Dead Past
by Onlysomeofthetime
Summary: Ratchet was set to graduate from the Praxus University of Medicine and Technology the week after the city fell. Now, press-ganged into the Decepticon ranks, Ratchet struggles with his conflicting loyalties and the harsh demands of war. Ratchet origin fic
1. The End

The war had seemed so distant at first, existing only on the news vids. Headlines of small uprisings and insurgencies became old news fast. No one worried, not really. The gleaming Autobots utopias shook the threat off as the government hit back, keeping the rebellion at bay. Then different reports started appearing and the unease grew, prickling up the necks of even the most sheltered Autobot population.

Stories of hidden explosives snuck into the cultural and populous centers of the northern cities started arising. A monument toppled, a spanning bridge blown, a suicide that had taken hundreds in the explosion. Soon, even the Council took notice, as they lost a couple of their own, finding the grayed corpses of a fellow leader eviscerated on city sidewalks early in the morning.

It was a problem of politicians and militaries. The rebels, the proclaimed Decepticons, would have their fight and they would lose. The Autobots of Iacon; the Council, the military, they would meet their challenge and they would win while the middle territories, the neutrals who were called Autobots by default of the banners they hung on their Capitol buildings, would sit back and let them. To the middle territories, the war felt like some far away threat that, eventually, would need to be acknowledged. But not now. Not when things were going so well.

The expansive city of Praxus felt like a fortress, the high buildings and roads safely hemming in her citizens from the ever growing chaos that lay just to the south. At the center of the city lay her pride and joy, the Praxus University of Medicine and Technology—the highest acclaimed specialty school on the planet. Almost all technological advances in medicine and upgrades for the past 500 vorns could be attributed to the University and its students. And in a week, a select group of those students would graduate to be immediately hired on by various hospitals and businesses, looking for the prestige and skills that came along with the employment of a Praxus University graduate.

Blind to the world outside of their home, this select group of students found this particular occasion to be cause for celebration, which, of course, they did. Excessively.

* * *

><p>"Jack—JACK!" Ratchet yelled over the din of voices and pounding music. How could someone whose head was, literally, a flashing beacon get so easily lost in a club? He finally caught sight of his friend as he waded off of the dance floor. He was grinning widely, showing all his denta in that stupid way that screamed "overcharged" and Ratchet weaseled his way through the throng of mechs and femmes towards him. He plopped another cube of violently pink highgrade into his friend's hand and found that that grin was rather infectious.<p>

"Where'd you go?" Wheeljack asked, his voice slurring audibly. Ratchet could tell he'd been missed.

He smirked. "Fetching you another drink, lightweight," he teased before downing his cube in a couple of gulps as he leaned up against the counter beside his friend.

Wheeljack actually started to giggle and Ratchet could tell right there the mech had probably had one too many. He laughed along with him even as he silently vowed to get his friend home safe that night. He knew they probably shouldn't be out with the looming threat of finals, but nearly their entire graduating class was here, and he wasn't going to miss out on the party of the year. It was their last night of break before final tests and under the pulsing lights and pounding music they were going to make it a night to remember.

"Ratchet!"

His head shot up to see a little silver femme struggling her way through the crowd, two other mechs trailing close behind.

"Lunar! Up here!" he called and waved her over. Lunar was the same practice as him and they had shared almost every class together since their first year. The two mechs following her were friends as well—Perceptor and Roadflare, though the former didn't look at all excited to be there.

"I have my experimental sciences thesis due in two days!" Perceptor fretted, blue optics squinting against the flashing strobes. "You do too Wheeljack! We shouldn't be getting overenergized off our processors with finals so close!" The small mech had to shout to even be heard.

Wheeljack and Ratchet shared a look before the white and green mech pushed himself away from the counter. "Perce, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine called the trailblazer. It will wipe away all the troubles from that overworked little processor of yours," Wheeljack said as he grabbed the red telescope by the arm and lead him down towards the bar, stumbling ever so slightly.

"Little?" Perceptor huffed, affronted, before the two disappeared through the throng.

Lunar slipped into Wheeljack's vacated spot and grinned brightly. "You excited?" she asked, her blue optics overly bright.

Ratchet grinned. "You already know the answer to that. And what did you two drink before you got here? Your optics are glowing like you've got a fever," he said.

"I lost 80 credits on drinks last week, I brought my own this time," Roadflare said, stumbling over a couple of hiccups in his engine.

Lunar grinned and reached into subspace to pull out a half full bottle of dull pink liquid. "Want some?" she asked.

Ratchet grinned brightly. "Don't mind if I do," he said and plucked the bottle from her hand. He took a deep swig, optics scanning the floor. He caught sight of Wheeljack and Perceptor at the bar, though the tense telescope seemed infinitely more relaxed, and the empty cube in his hand told why.

Lunar snatched the bottle back from him after his second or third generous gulp. "Primus, no wonder you drop 100 credits every weekend," she said and took a sip from the bottle before passing it off to Roadflare.

Ratchet chuckled and put an arm around her shoulder before kissing the top of her helm. "I still think that those were stolen," he said solemnly though he was visibly smirking.

Lunar chuckled and moved so her chassis was pressed against his as she looked up at him. "Liar," she smirked and leaned up to peck him on the lips.

Ratchet wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her lithe hips move against his as she danced to the beat. "Come on, dance with me!" she said and tugged at his shoulders. His processor was buzzing comfortably and she felt too good pressed up against him for him to really want to let go.

"I think I'll pass," he said even as he tightened his embrace, grinning wolfishly at her. Lunar snorted and ground against him a little harder, as though in retaliation for being a buzz-kill.

Roadflare glared balefully at them over his bottle. "You two disgust me," he said, deadpan. "C'mon let's hit up McAdams before their white energon deal ends."

"Sounds good," Ratchet said, already tasting the sweet energon that made the bar famous. His optics scanned the expansive room for Wheeljack and Perceptor once again, wondering what was taking them so long. He didn't see them at the bar anymore and his optics roved over the floor where the dancing mechs looked oddly disjoined under the flashing lights.

His slightly blurred optics focused on a single mech, wading through the crowd. Ratchet recognized him as a lowerclassman but couldn't for the life of him remember his name. He looked scuffed up, and the dancing mechs on all sides of him bumped and jostled him as he wandered like a lost sparkling through the crowd. Something about his chassis looked off, like it had been dented outward, but that wasn't what had caught Ratchet's attention. The mech appeared to be crying.

"Ratchet?" Lunar asked, her hand splayed across his windshield.

The mech's armor fell open and Ratchet's processor stalled. Something had been jammed into the mech's chassis, curled around his spark chamber and had given his front that odd bulge. He realized a second too late what the flashing red light meant and reality hit him like a bullet.

"GET DOWN!" he screamed before everything he had ever know or hoped for, the peaceful world he'd grown accustomed to was consumed in a ball of white.

* * *

><p>His audios rang. He'd drank too much last night and someone was slapping his cheek, probably Wheeljack telling him to get up. His optics flickered on and he dazedly wiped soot from the glass, feeling for the first time, a trickle of energon slide down his helm.<p>

"We got a live one over here," a voice called, though Ratchet had a hard time hearing him through the static buzz of his audios. There was a muffled response but Ratchet couldn't have heard it even if he wanted to as he teetered on the edge of consciousness.

He made the mistake of looking down, and shock slammed through his groggy frame, bringing him to an alertness he didn't want. Lunar's dark optics looked up at him, a puzzled look still plastered on her face. Her usually flawless silver armor was scorched black, the paint nanites peeling off from the combination of heat and pressure. Shrapnel had pierced straight through her, wedging deadly fragments deep in her internals so far that some poked out the other side, scratching Ratchet's windshield.

With a shaking hand he reached up and picked a shard of metal from his cheek. The only reason he was alive was because she had been pressed comfortably against his chassis, shielding his spark with her body when the bomb went off.

His optics slowly moved from her face to the devastation around him. The walls of the club were just barely standing, broken and cracked, as though they could crumple if someone breathed too hard. The broken bodies of his friends and classmates littered the scorched ground and just in front of him, Roadflare lay sprawled, one optic knocked loose and lying on the ground in front of his body. The dark blue glass stared up at him accusingly as though asking him why he was still alive.

The round optic popped as a heavy silver and black foot descended upon it, snapping Ratchet out of his trance. His shocked gaze slowly traveled upwards until he looked into the silver face of a mech whose name had echoed through the news broadcasts on the war torn planet that had seemed so far away. "Megatron," he breathed, voice obscured by static.

Red optics looked at him impassively. "Put him with the others." As two bulky bodies obstructed his view of the mech, Ratchet heard the gravelly voice order, "Burn it all to the ground."


	2. A Proposal

Ratchet bit back a cry of pain as two sets of hands dragged him to his feet, drawing attention to the dent in his back struts. He attributed it to the blast forcing him against the counter and thought about exactly what he would do to fix it to keep him from thinking about anything else. He registered a few other dings and dents as he was roughly led along by the two mechs and devoutly went over how he would fix each and every one of them.

At first, he kept his optics down, but the mech's leading him had no care for what, or who, he may be stepping on as they dragged him from the club so he turned his optics up, leaning his head back and staring up at the sky to avoid seeing anything else. His head swam though whether it was from residual high grade or the explosion knocking his sensors askew, he couldn't be sure. He didn't even feel it when his hands were locked behind his back with a pair of magnabonds, though he did snap out of it when he was suddenly pitched forward and couldn't stop his fall.

He cried out as his square shoulder hit the ground, one corner denting in. He rolled onto his stomach and struggled to get himself up, his injured back struts screeching their protest.

"Ratchet! Oh thank Primus!"

Ratchet's head shot up and suddenly hands were helping him to his feet. "Wheeljack?" he asked, his vents working overtime to cool his system.

Wheeljack swore and gently sat him up and against the purple wall of the shuttle they'd been tossed into. "Ratch, take a deep breath, your systems are overheating," he said. Ratchet nodded and closed his optics before carefully cycling air through his vents until his system started to cool down, if only a little. When he opened his optics, he noticed that his friends' hands were locked in magnabonds and resting on his shoulder to keep him steady, and more surprisingly, his blast mask was on.

Ratchet tilted his head. "Jack, why's your mask on?" he asked.

Wheeljack shook his head but didn't answer. "Ratchet, what the slag happened? Me n' Percy were gonna go outside for some air and then…"

Ratchet shivered and shook his head. "Where's Percy?" he asked, changing the subject. If he talked about it he'd have to remember—remember that two of his close friends, and countless others, were dead.

"He's unconscious," he said and nodded towards where the red mech was lying against the wall of the shuttle, and he wasn't the only one. There were around 30 other mechs lying bound in the shuttle, some injured and unconscious, others sharing the same terrified looks that Ratchet and Wheeljack wore. "He's got a nasty dent on his helm from the blast, but I think he'll be alright. Ratchet, what's going _on_?" he insisted.

Ratchet shivered and refused to look at him. "R-road and Lunar are dead," he whispered, his voice cracking. That was what he hadn't wanted to think about, but as the words left his mouth, the reality set in.

Ratchet heard Wheeljack's vents stall before stuttering back to life. His friend stared at him and Ratchet could tell he was trying to find something to say but the words just wouldn't come. Ratchet didn't mind.

Without warning, the shuttle jolted to life, causing its prisoners to cry out in alarm. The doors on the front end of the ship slid open and those close to it immediately backed away as a single seeker stepped through the doors. He was an imposing figure, his red, white and blue armor shining even in the dim lights. His wings were flared out on either side of him, making him look even bigger while his red optics glowed like embers as they scanned the dirty and injured occupants of the ships cargo bay.

He crossed his arms over his cockpit, giving everyone in the bay a good view of the two nullrays attached to his forearms. "Who here was at the University?" he asked, his voice much higher than Ratchet expected. It didn't seem to fit him.

More than half the mechs in the room stirred, feeling suddenly much worse now that they were being singled out. The jet nodded haughtily. "Alright then, listen closely. You are being offered a choice here. Your precious city is under Decepticon control now. The Autobot Peacekeeper headquarters has been destroyed and your University is in ruins. We have taken the energon refineries to help fuel our growing cause," he said, sounding far too proud for the atrocity that had happened.

"You have two choices," he continued, his voice pitching into a lower, threatening timbre. "Join the Decepticon rebellion and rest easy knowing that you are fighting for the cause that will free Cybertron's oppressed citizens. You will be equipped, well fed and paid for your loyalty if you chose this path. University students especially are urged to join our ranks—your skills are imperative towards the war effort," the seeker said as his ruby optics scanned the hold.

Ratchet blanched. If the destruction of the city was really that severe then Cybertron had lost many of its greatest minds at Praxus. "You fragger!" someone hissed from the back of the shuttle. All optics turned towards the mech while the jet raised a single, elegant optic ridge.

"You have something to say?" he asked, his voice darkening further.

Ratchet swallowed. It was a senior medical student like himself that had spoken up. His name was Ion, and he'd always been a little too aloof to consider a friend, but Ratchet knew him well enough. "Yeah, I got something to say," Ion hissed as he drew himself to his feet, his optics bright with fury. His voice shook as he continued. "All I've heard about lately is the death and destruction your little group of—of _terrorists_ have created," he snarled. "You destroy the one place that's able to help the casualties of your war and then you expect us to _join_ you?"

The jet looked at the mech levelly. "Let me tell you your other option," he said as closed the distance between them. All Ratchet heard was the whirr of a charging nullray and had to look away. There was a garbled scream and the clang of a body hitting the floor. "Those of you who decide not to join us will be sent down to die with what remains of your Autobot stronghold. And when no one comes to help you, you'll see just how much your precious Autobots care about you," he said before turning and sweeping back out of the room, adding over his shoulder, "You have till we land to decide."

Ratchet dared to open his optics and saw Ion lying on the ground, a smoking hole through his chassis. His programming kicked in almost instantly. "He's still alive," he breathed. Ratchet tugged at the magnabonds on his wrists, feeling the metal cut into the tender wires. "Slaggit, can anyone get these damn things off?" he barked.

A tall black mech stepped forward that Ratchet didn't recognize. "Slip them back on when you're done or you're scrap too," he said before grabbing Ratchet's hands with his own. Ratchet felt a slight pressure around his hands and the creaking of metal before he could pull his wrists out of the loosened cuffs. He looked back at the mech in shock. The mech wiggled his fingers and said simply, "Force field."

Ratchet rushed to Ion's side. "Come on Ion, stay with me," he said, his hands shaking as he assessed the damage. Sure, he had the training to fix him, but he'd never been forced into a situation like this before. This was no simulation or a patient under care at the University—this was one of his classmates slowly dying under his hands.

He pulled a laser scalpel out of subspace, trying to carefully reattach a major fuel like that had been burnt through. He set his sensors to monitor the mech, textbook procedure. Yet textbooks never warned you about your hands shaking, or your vision going fuzzy with panic and making you more of a liability than a help. "Nononono," he murmured, his optics widening as his readouts showed his vitals slowing down, slipping into cascade failure. He worked frantically to reconnect anything vital and stop the leaking in coolant and fuel lines, but it didn't seem to have any affect. The feedback from his scans said he should have been able to save him, yet the reality lay right in front of him as Ion's optics dimmed and went out, his metal graying with him as his spark extinguished.

"Ratch, c'mon," Wheeljack said as he put a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him away. Ratchet allowed himself to be pulled away, looking dumbstruck. "Ratchet, look at me," Wheeljack said and cupped his face, his magnabonds clanking. "You did what you could, okay?"

Ratchet swallowed the sick feeling in his tanks as he met his friend's optics before nodding. "Yeah… yeah," he said quietly.

Wheeljack tapped his cheek gently. "We'll be fine, okay?" Ratchet's armor clattered a bit but he managed to nod, struggling to believe him.

The big black mech with the force field walked over and knelt down beside the two of them. "Kid, you alright?" he asked Ratchet.

Ratchet turned his shellshocked gaze onto the mech and shook his head. "No, no I'm far from alright," he said quietly.

If the black mech's expression changed behind his face mask, Ratchet couldn't tell. "Lemme rephrase that. You gonna live?"

Ratchet gave a short, mirthless laugh that made Wheeljack wince. "I've made it this far, haven't I?"

The black mech sighed and patted his shoulder. "Your name's Ratchet, right?" Ratchet nodded and hugged his knees to his windshield. "My name's Trailbreaker, and I think I got an idea that'll get us out o' here."


	3. Assessment

Trailbreaker did have a plan. A stupid, reckless, beyond idiotic plan. But with Ion's body lying deactivated on the floor of the shuttle, the captured mechs knew that if they didn't try something, chances were they would end up in a similar condition. It was no secret that the Autobot high command wouldn't negotiate with terrorists, even if the hostages consisted of mostly injured and terrified university students. Even so, the red Autobot sigil gleaming on Trailbreaker's chassis gave them hope that he could help.

"Here's the deal," Trailbreaker said quietly to the group of bots that circled close around him. "I want y'all in the best condition to pair up with an injured mech. We need to be fast if this is gonna work." Ratchet glanced back at Perceptor who was struggling to remain conscious as he laid against the hull of the shuttle. "They have to be taking us to Kaon, but I don't know where we'll touch down. It don't matter though, as soon as this ship stops moving, I'm gonna extend my force field and blow out the back. Kaon's in ruins, so as soon as there's an opening, y'all better run like slag. Find a place to hide until the heat passes and then just go. And keep going until you get out of Kaon. Not a single bot's gonna pick your afts up unless the distress signal's coming from way out of town."

The mechs surrounding him gaped and Ratchet physically felt his spark sank. What the pit sort of suicidal plan was that? Finally, someone spoke up, voicing the question they were all thinking. "They're _armed_. How the slag are we going to outrun gunfire!"

Trailbreaker actually started laughing and Ratchet couldn't help but think that the mech had utterly and completely lost his mind. "Zigzag. Makes you a harder target to hit." Ratchet shuddered, trying his best not let panic flood his system and Trailbreaker chuckled. "Hey, I never said it was a good plan, but do any of you have any better ideas? Cause I'd sure love to hear them."

A long silence followed before a small mech spoke up. "Why run?" he said. "I-if we do as we're told and don't talk back they won't hurt us, r-right?"

Trailbreaker sighed. "Maybe, maybe not. But take this into your considerations. You can either be killed here, press-ganged into a group of murderers or try and get to safety," he said and glanced at Ion's body. "Anyone in here unaffiliated can stay if they want. Anyone who wears an Autobot symbol sure as slag better run cause you can bet they'll scrap you as soon as they notice it," Trailbreaker said and Ratchet swallowed as his optics were drawn back to the Autobot symbol on the black mech's armor, standing out like a target. "I'm not sure when we're landing, but as soon as we do, every one of you have better made up your mind. Hesitating isn't going to help your chances. I'll keep my force field up as long as I can, but as soon as we hit cover, split up. It'll make us harder to catch."

Ratchet rubbed his optics until he saw static but it was Wheeljack who spoke. "What do you think our chances are?" he asked.

Trailbreaker shrugged and ran a hand over his helm. "Can't say," he admitted. "No matter what, I'm going for it. Getting shot in the back is better than sticking around to be tortured. Call it a desperation act, but I've seen what they do to Autobots they capture and I'm not about to be sent to the Well with my internals hanging out."

Wheeljack's optics widened to the size of discs but Trailbreaker just patted his shoulder before looking at Ratchet. "Get your aft in gear, medic. Get your friends taken care of and ready to go," he said and motioned to Wheeljack and Perceptor before heading towards the back of the shuttle. Ratchet looked at his friend and rubbed his face, trying to get any sort of sensation from it. He was still too deep in shock for his sensors to register much, but at least he was aware of it enough that his spark didn't start overworking to try and fix it.

"What should we do?" he asked at last.

Wheeljack sat down hard next to him. "Slag if I know," he said quietly. Ratchet looked at him before noticing the pink glow of energon drip onto his friend's shoulder.

Ratchet winced and turned his face towards him, realizing what Trailbreaker had meant. The gap where Wheeljack's blast mask met his neck was leaking energon down his neck and shoulder in little pink streams. Ignoring the fact that his hands were still shaking and Ion's body still lay on the ground mere yards from them, Ratchet grabbed his shoulder and said, "Let me look."

Wheeljack quickly shook his head. "It's fine."

Ratchet glared and grabbed one glowing headfin as he tried to get up. "If it's bad, it's going to fill up behind your mask and then you'll be drinking it," he said, remembering all those times his professors had admonished him about his bedside manner. "Last thing we need is you purging up over processed energon. Now let me look."

Wheeljack sighed before slowly retracting his blast mask, biting back a cry of pain as it scraped his ruined faceplate with partially dried energon. Ratchet swallowed put kept as good of a poker face as he could manage as he assessed the damage. The soft, flexible metal of his faceplate had been effectively shredded, exposing the wires and protoform underneath and destroying the structure of his lips and nose. Shrapnel was still embedded in the soft mental and Ratchet hoped that no rust or other small debris had made it into his system.

"They got you pretty good," Ratchet said and reached into his subspace and pulled out a small med kit. He'd forgotten to empty it out after class earlier in the day, but he was glad for it now. It wasn't much, but at least it had a cleaner and sealant inside to stop the leaking.

"Too bad. All my good looks are wasted," Wheeljack said only to wince as he attempted a small smile.

Ratchet snorted and shook his head. "This is gonna sting, but try and keep your face relaxed," he said, not wanting to accidentally tear his faceplates even more. He shook out his hands, trying to get the tremors to stop before picking up the clean rag out of the kit and dousing it in cleaner. "I don't have the supplies to patch it back together—you're gonna have some impressive scars until you can get a new faceplate made," he said and carefully started cleaning the area of partially congealed energon. Wiping the mess off was the easy part, even if Wheeljack winced and closed his optics while he did it. The hardest part was getting his hands to stay steady enough to handle a pair of tweezers to remove the scraps of metal and broken glass he found embedded in the soft material of his face.

Wheeljack stayed still and quiet even though Ratchet could hear his vents heave and sputter with every gentle touch. Ratchet cleaned and sanitized the area as best as he could but it was hard with the shredded flaps hanging like ribbons. He suppressed a shudder as he saw his friend's dentals and glossa through one of the tears in his cheek. "Slag," he muttered and looked away, choosing to look at the bottle of sealant instead. It was meant for small fuel line ruptures and armor cracks, not heavy shrapnel damage on such a sensor heavy surface as a faceplate. "Hold on Jack. This is going to hurt like the pit," he warned and carefully sprayed some of the sealant onto the wound.

Ratchet could see his dentals clench together as he hissed in pain, optics shutting tight. He held onto his hands until the pain subsided and Wheeljack shuddered. "I could _taste_ that. Why could I taste that?" he asked, trying his hardest to speak without moving his mouth too much, even as he lifted a hand up to feel the damage. Ratchet grabbed his hand and shook his head and understanding dawned on the mech's face. His optics brightened from blue to near white and Ratchet was afraid he was going to stasis lock on him.

"Hey. Hey!" he snapped and Wheeljack's dazed optics focused on him again. "Just calm down. We can panic all we want later, but I can't carry you and Percy out of here," he warned, knowing that if Wheeljack broke down, he wouldn't have a slagging chance of keeping himself together. Both of them were hanging on the ragged edge of panic, having experienced so much, just overnight.

Wheeljack shuddered, his armor rattling before he took a few fortifying breaths. He looked at his friend and managed to ask, "We're doing it then? We're gonna go for it?" Ratchet swallowed and nodded as he patted his friend's shoulder before looking over at Perceptor. The mech was still barely conscious and had rolled onto his side. He was curled up tightly, cuffed hands gripping his helm while he looked dazedly at the metal floor beneath him, optics tracing the slight bounce of a pebble as the ship roared through the sky.

Ratchet ran his fingers over his helm and pulled Perceptor's hands away to expose the sizeable dent he'd been covering up. He pulled a data transfer line out of his wrist and carefully plugged it into a port on the telescope's neck. Following the textbook procedures for assessing a processor injury, he ran a scan, carefully watching the readouts as it played across the inside of his optics. Reviewing the strict process helped to keep everything else blocked out and he vaguely noticed that his hands had finally stopped shaking. He sighed in relief as the scan came back better than hoped for. Perceptor was dazed and would be suffering from a slagging awful headache, disorientation and balance issues until the dent could be fixed, but not permanent damage had been done.

"You with us Perce?" he asked and gently tapped the mech's cheek. The red mech's optics brightened and he looked up at him groggily, like someone who had just woken up from a long nap. He mumbled incoherently before letting his helm flop back against the floor, optics shuttering closed. Ratchet sighed as he looked at the small mech. About ten vorns younger than anyone else at the University, he was already a senior and was—had been set to graduate with Ratchet and Wheljack in a week. Even though he was barely out of his youngling stage, he was already considered one of the most brilliant students at Praxis, but to Ratchet, Wheeljack, Lunar and Roadflare, he was the baby of the group and always would be. Ratchet had already seen two of his friend's grey bodies today—there was no way he was leaving a third behind to the mercies of those who had killed them.

Ratchet gently scooted his hands under the smaller mech and lifted, only to feel something in his back shift and snap with an audible crack. Ratchet howled and fell down to his knees, even as he held laid Perceptor down. Agony blossoming from his back struts to the lower half of his body and instantly, he knew they weren't just dented. One of his struts must have finally snapped after being bent so badly and in any other situation, it would be a simple matter of getting it welded or replaced, but as it was, he could already feel his legs going numb as the sensors deadened to save him from the pain.

The ground under him rumbled and jolted before coming to a stop and Ratchet's optics widened in panic. He barely had time to comprehend the tingle against his armor of an expanding force field before a loud crash sounded as the back of the shuttle was blown out.


	4. New Recruits

Ratchet didn't have time to react before Wheeljack grabbed Perceptor, holding the mech awkwardly over his shoulder before yanking Ratchet to his feet. He was on his feet running before the growing numbness in his legs had time to register. He couldn't feel the pain, but every time his foot hit the ground, he felt like he was falling, only to be caught by a leg that didn't feel like it was there anymore. He stumbled after Wheeljack, rushing out of the shuttle in a mad dash. Vaguely, he registered Trailbreaker ahead of them, his force field glowing in a dome around them, but didn't want to look behind him and see if anyone else had run. The sound of thudding of pedes and the shouts of angry mechs followed him, but he just kept running, holding onto Wheeljack for support.

He looked for rubble, for anything to hide behind as he heard the distinct shot of laser fire sound from somewhere behind him, but there was nothing, absolutely nowhere to duck for cover. No matter what direction he looked, there was nothing but smooth metal reaching out and tall buildings stretching up in the distance. It took him a moment to understand, but when he did, his numb legs gave out entirely and he fell hard. Wheeljack tried to grab him and pull him along, but Ratchet just gaped in horror.

They were on a roof. The shuttle had landed on _a roof._ There was no escaping now, but that didn't seem to stop Trailbreaker from trying. The black mech kept running even as more of the mechs following him realized he was heading directly towards a few hundred foot drop. Ratchet could only watch as the mech ran to the edge and jumped confidently, disappearing over the edge like he was jumping into a pool of water. A blue bot with an Autobot symbol on his chassis jumped just after him and Ratchet couldn't seem to look away. A couple other mechs made it to the edge before coming to a dead halt and Ratchet didn't want to watch and see one's momentum accidentally carry him over the edge.

The thudding pedes and barked orders of their pursuers got louder Wheeljack gently set Perceptor down and raised his hands up, head ducked like he was waiting for a firing squad. Ratchet didn't think he could sit up if he tried so he rested his head against the ground, hands covering his helm as he hunched into as small a ball as he could manage. He heard the whirring of charged weapons hover over him and tensed, waiting for the impact with optics shut tight.

"Get up!" a voice snapped and a heavy pede kicked him in the side. His vents choked at the impact, but Ratchet managed to push himself upright. The mech kicked him again and Wheeljack helped him stand, yanking him up even as he balanced Perceptor over his other shoulder. Ratchet shared a look with his friend as he carefully stumbled to his feet and he could read the question in his optics. How were they still alive?

The big Con who was still looming behind them and shoved Wheeljack forward, smirking as he scrambled to get a better grip on Perceptor. "Get moving!" he barked and Ratchet stumbled along beside his friend, taking each step slow and watching his feet carefully so he didn't fall again. It was hard to control a limb that didn't feel like it was there and his knees threatened to fold with each step.

Wheeljack glanced back at the Con who followed behind them, daring a glare even as he cradled Perceptor back in his arms. "Backstrut?" he asked under his breath and Ratchet nodded, coolant beading on his helm as he concentrated on staying upright. Now that desperation wasn't keeping him standing, nothing else was really able to and he fell to his knees again, wincing at the clang even though he didn't feel anything. He didn't want to imagine what would happen when his sensors were reactivated.

"I thought I told you to get moving!" the Con snapped and kicked Ratchet again, hitting him directly in the back. Pain flared out as his sensors were jarred and he gave a weak cry, the intensity taking his breath away.

"Stop it! He's hurt!" Wheeljack said and knelt down by his friend.

The Con sneered. "Was running just fine a couple minutes ago," he said, his smirk showing in his voice. Regardless, he grabbed Ratchet under the shoulder and yanked him to his feet before Wheeljack had the chance to. He held him upright before half dragging, half carrying him towards the tall spire that jutted out of the middle of the roof. Ratchet recognized it instantly. The Peacekeeper Headquarters in Kaon was one of the biggest on the planet, and news of its takeover had turned the public view of the Decepticons from a ragtag gang to a legitimate threat. It had been the main hub of the city, and bursting with Autobot supplies, it was the perfect place to set up home base.

Ratchet couldn't do much else as he was dragged into the base, Wheeljack with Perceptor walking in front of them. The Con handed him off to another mech as soon as they walked through the doors before grabbing the pitifully moaning Perceptor from Wheeljack and handing him to another. "Get them to medical. Make sure they'll live," the Con said. He grabbed Wheeljack and said, "You come with me."

Ratchet shook his head. "No! He needs medical attention. His face is torn to shreds—please!" Ratchet said desperately, willing to give anything so they weren't separated.

The Con looked at Wheeljack appraisingly. "Take off your mask," he ordered and Wheeljack swallowed before doing as he was told. Ratchet winced at the sight. The sealant had added a sort of glaze to the wound, making it look, if possible, worse than it already was. The Con made a noise of disgust before jerking his thumb towards Ratchet and Perceptor. "Get moving," he snapped.

The rest of the mechs from the shuttle were sorted out and about half of them were sent down to the medbay, while the other half were sent to some unknown destination. Fortunately, the trip down to the medbay was quick and mostly involved Ratchet holding himself up in an elevator, which he was all too glad for.

To his surprise, the medbay seemed to be in excellent condition. From what he'd seen so far from the Decepticons, he wouldn't have been surprised to find limbs scattered around the room like some sort of chop shop, but everything appeared orderly, and most importantly, clean. There were only a few injured mechs lying on the berth but there were plenty of mechs with medic stripes milling about the room, as though they had been expecting the influx of injuries. Instantly a couple of the mechs came over to them, helping carry the worst injured to berths and instructing others to lie down. Two Cons with guns stood guard at the only door, and Ratchet was all too glad to get away from them as Perceptor was taken to a berth in the corner by a big mech. Wheeljack helped Ratchet stumble after their friend and was glad when no one protested them choosing beds next to him.

The medic who had carried Perceptor locked a cuff around the dazed mech's ankle that kept him attached to the berth before doing the same to Ratchet and Wheeljack. He was a tall mech, some sort of flyer by the looks of it, but his wings were all wrong. They folded down instead of sticking proudly out like most jets. He had a purple Decepticon sigil on each wing, but also had the stripes of a trained medic on his shoulders. "Sit tight," the mech said, his red optics meeting Ratchet's. "I'll come take a look at you all." Ratchet swallowed and nodded, not sensing any menace in the mech's voice before he laid down on the berth with a groan.

Wheeljack had flipped his blast mask on again before they'd even entered the medbay and he rubbed the plated metal. "I can't believe we're still alive," he said after a moment, sounding dazed.

Ratchet ran a hand on his helm. "I can't either," he admitted and took a deep breath, feeling his system calm down a little. This was a medbay. No matter where you were, that meant safety, right?

The winged medic came back over to them and looked between his three new charges, holding a datapad in hand. "I need to check your identification," he said and gently plugged the cord from the datapad into Perceptor's neck, downloading his info. "Are all three of you Praxus University kids?" he asked and moved onto Wheeljack who looked at Ratchet uncertainly. The mech gave a small laugh at their hesitance and Ratchet was surprised that a Con was even capable of laughing. "You three are allowed to speak. I'm here to fix you, not shoot you," he promised. "My name's Spec."

Ratchet swallowed as the mech moved onto him. He felt the quick download of his identification, but the mech didn't take anything, though he easily could have. "Yeah, we're University students," he said at last and Spec nodded.

His optics brightened a little as he read his info off the datapad. "You're a medic?" he asked and looked at Ratchet.

Ratchet shook his head. "Didn't graduate yet," he said quietly and closed his optics, fighting back the painful memories that tried to overwhelm him.

Spec nodded even as he disconnected the cord. "Well, since I'm sure you've already had a preliminary look, which one of you is the worst off?" he asked.

Ratchet bit his lip, looking between his two friends. Perceptor was still dazed and barely conscious, but his injuries were a quick fix and quick recovery. Technically, Ratchet was the worst off of the bunch, but he wasn't in pain right now thanks to his deadened sensors, but Wheeljack was feeling every agonizing second with the raw sensors on his face. He nodded to his friend. "Jack is," he said.

Spec looked at Wheeljack and frowned. "Now what could be wrong with you?" he asked even as he tapped his faceplate, seeing the dried energon on his shoulder. "Open up." Wheeljack did as he was asked and Spec looked at his shredded faceplates without even a flinch. "Yeah, you got some pretty good shrapnel damage there," he said. "Unfortunately for you, we don't have the supplies to be making cosmetic fixes at a time like this. The best I can do for you is numb the sensors and give you an additive that'll help it heal faster. You'll have some pretty badaft scars, but hey, femmes dig scars."

That actually managed to surprise a small laugh out of Wheeljack even as Spec tapped by into Wheeljack's system through a medical port and manually dulled the sensors. "Feel better?" he asked and Wheeljack nodded. Spec went to the storage cabinet near their corner and grabbed a bottle of what Ratchet could only guess was an alloy to help autorepair re-grow the metal faster. He carefully brushed it over his face, coating the different scrapes before gently moving some of the worst shreds of his faceplate back against the protoform with a small pair of tweezers, setting the soft metal in place with quick welds. Ratchet watched closely, seeing how the mech managed to patch over the gaping hole in his friend's cheek before coating it with the alloy to help it heal over.

"Alright, just keep your blast mask on and don't open your mouth too wide until that's healed over a little bit," Spec said. He ran a quick scan on the mech and nodded before heading to the supply closet again, his wings blocking whatever his hands were doing from view. Without warning he turned and plunged a syringe into Wheeljack's neck. Wheeljack yelped more out of surprise than anything and tried to jerk away, but Spec just grinned and waved the empty needle. "There were some traces of rust in your system—had to do something about it," he said and Wheeljack glared at the mech. "Other than some scrapes and minor dents, you're in the clear."

Spec looked at Ratchet again who immediately pointed to Perceptor. "He's got a pretty bad dent and some shrapnel in his armor that I didn't have time to get out," he said.

Spec nodded and walked over to the telescope before getting to work on him. Ratchet couldn't get as good of a view of Perceptor as Wheeljack laid on the berth in between them, but he saw Spec took what looked like a massive suction cup and attached it to Perceptor's helm. Spec twisted something on the device and there was a loud pop. Perceptor jerked up instantly before gripping his helm with a loud moan. "Woah there, just calm down," Spec said. "You got a pretty nasty ding, but you're alright. Just lie down, the headache will pass."

Perceptor looked around in a dazed sort of confusion before his optics settled on Wheeljack and Ratchet. He relaxed a little bit before looking around. "Where's Road and Lunar?" he asked, even as he tried to figure out exactly where they were. He looked down at the cuff around his ankle and frowned, before looking back at Wheeljack and Ratchet, fear evident on his face now.

Ratchet shook his head. "We'll talk later Perce," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Rest. We're safe here, right?" he said and looked at Spec.

Spec gave smiled and nodded. "As long as you're with me, you're safe," he promised. Perceptor swallowed but laid down against the berth, closing his optics with a groan. Spec moved to Ratchet next and looked at him warily. "Now. What are you hiding?" he asked. "I saw you limp in here. You can barely walk."

Ratchet swallowed and rubbed his helm. "My backstrut was dented by the initial blast and it cracked when I tried to pick Perceptor up."

Spec's optic ridge rose as he frowned at the mech. "Cosmetic damage, a bump on the helm and you didn't tell me that you have a broken _backstrut?" _he asked. "What the pit are they teaching you about priority cases at that University?"

Ratchet scowled. "The sensors went dead. I'm not in pain," he said before jerking his helm in Wheeljack and Percy's direction. "They were."

Spec snorted and shook his head. "Well, you're gonna make up for it now," he warned. "Roll onto your front." Ratchet swallowed and knew it was true even as he did what he was asked. He craned his neck to watch Spec work and saw rather than felt him remove the armor that covered his lower back. He brought out a small electric pen, used to test reflexes and gently moved from the bottom of Ratchet's back up. Ratchet jerked as he was finally able to feel it and Spec peered at the spot closely, using a metal pick to move some of the plates aside. "Yup, you snapped it right in half," he said and Ratchet had the disturbing sensation of a piece of his protoform being slid out from under his armor as Spec pulled the broken scraps out. Without the backstrut to connect the rest of his protoform to his lower half from the waist down was completely paralyzed, but Ratchet barely even noticed. "You're lucky it was a full break. A crack wouldn't have disconnected the sensors and you definitely would have volunteered to go first, if you were still conscious."

Ratchet winced and laid his helm against his arms, letting the mech work. Spec attached his armor plates to a magnet at the head of his berth for safekeeping before heading towards a door at the other end of the room. Ratchet suspected it must be a storage room for spare parts, but when Spec opened the door, Ratchet nearly screamed. It wasn't orderly stacks of factory new parts that they had at the University, but rather grey and dead bodies of mechs, optics lifeless and mouths slightly open, hanging from magnets on the walls. Before the door closed, he watched Spec find a mech that was roughly his same build before marking something on the pad that hung around its neck. When he came back out of the room he was holding a spare backstrut that he carefully polished off with sanitizer.

Ratchet did scream then. "NO!" he shouted and tried to yank his motionless ankle out of its bond. "NO! You are NOT putting some dead mech's parts in me!" he yelled. It was beyond sickening, beyond every level of taboo he'd learned about at the University and he would not tolerate it.

Spec set the backstrut on Wheeljack's berth, and even the usually stoic engineer flinched away from it, optics wide with horror. Spec grabbed Ratchet and pinned him against the berth with a hand on his neck and another holding his flailing arm. With his lower half paralyzed, it was too easy to keep him down. Ratchet cried for help and struggled against the mech before Spec leaned his weight against his back and slapped a hand over his mouth. "Listen to me," he hissed and Ratchet quieted, even as he shook his head in disgust and disbelief. "No, _listen_ to me. We don't _have_ spare parts like the University does. We use what we can and desperate times call for desperate measures, Ratchet."

Ratchet tried to jerk away from the mech but Spec held him tightly, leaning his face in close so Ratchet could feel the air from his vents. "Look," he said quietly, keeping his voice down. "You can either take the part and be grateful, or they're going to take your paraplegic aft out back and shoot you, understood? The only reason we're allowed to fix you up is so you'll be useful to them. A mech who can't move his limbs from the waist down isn't very useful, is it?" Spec sighed irritably and gave the mech a level look. "My suggestion? Take the slagging part and be quiet."

Ratchet panted as he looked at him, optics wide as his morals and survival instinct struggled against one another. He shuddered as he looked at the cannibalized part before closing his optics and nodding. Spec patted his shoulder. "You won't even know the difference," he told him as he grabbed the part and carefully slid it in its place, slipping it into the sensor port before welding it down in a choice few spots so he would still have his full range of motion. Ratchet shuddered in disgust, optics shut tightly, as though he could pretend it wasn't happening if he didn't see it.

"I'm leaving your armor off for now in case I need to make adjustments," he told him and Ratchet nodded curtly. "Ready for the really fun part?"

Ratchet clenched his optics shut tight and gripped the edge of the berth, bracing himself for what came next. "Just do it," he snapped.

Spec shrugged and plugged into Ratchet's neck before reactivating the sensors with a quick command. Ratchet tried to stop himself, but the overload of backed up information made him howl in pain. The comfortable numbness was replaced with a jolt of searing pain as every one of his sensors from the waist down reactivated at once, sending him all of the backlogged information instantaneously. The pain in his knees from where he had fell to the aches from the dents the guards had given him may not have been awful when they happened, but combined into one sensory experience on newly reactivated sensors made it feel like he was being punched everywhere at once.

As soon as the pain happened it was gone, leaving him aching like he should be after his rough treatment on the roof. "Slag that's awful," he groaned and buried his face against the berth.

Spec chuckled. "Yeah, sensory backup's a glitch, huh?" he asked. "But at least it's quick. How ya feel?"

Ratchet carefully sat up and stretched his back, twisting carefully from side to side to be sure everything felt right. "Good," he said, sounding almost surprised at the revelation. "Thank you," he added quietly.

Spec snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't thank me yet," he murmured, sounding almost apologetic. Ratchet tensed as the mech headed to the other side of the medbay, grabbing what looked like an oversized stasis cuff, but it was thinner, not quiet as wide. Ratchet couldn't even begin to imagine what it was for until he looked around at the other mechs that had been brought into the medbay as saw some of the medics locking the cuffs around their necks like a collar.

Spec came back, carrying three of the devices and Ratchet's optics widened. "What are those?" he asked and discreetly tugged at the cuff around his ankle, a distinct uneasiness settling in his tanks.

Spec sighed as he looked at the collars. "A cheap, effective guarantee," he muttered. "Hold still." Ratchet pushed the mech's hand away as he tried to bring the device to his neck.

"No! What are those?" Ratchet snapped, seeing the small cable that trailed from the thing.

Spec ignored him and grabbed his hand, forcing his wrist to the table. "Don't make me strap you down, kid," he muttered and managed to expertly close the collar around his neck before welding it shut. He quickly plugged the cord into the back of Ratchet's helm and the young mech gasped as he felt the plug of the cord lock into place as well, little metallic barbs digging in so it would be impossible to remove without extreme pain and damage. He tried to access the device through the connection, but it was heavily encoded, making it an effective one way stream from the collar to Ratchet's system. Judging by the warnings of a foreign presence that popped up on his HUD, Ratchet could guess what the thing was.

Spec did the same to Wheeljack who flinched as the cord locked into place before moving to Perceptor. The young mech was trembling fearfully, his hands over the back of his neck, covering his access port. "Don't make this difficult, kid," Spec said but Perceptor cowered away from him.

"Don't hurt him," Wheeljack begged. "Percy, just do what he says."

The telescope looked at the collar in horror and shook his head. "No—I'm not letting him put that thing on me," he said, quiet voice shaking.

"Perc—"

"No!" Perceptor cried, his panic in his voice. "I'm not allowing some hatchet medic to put a kill switch on me!"

Ratchet winced, his fears confirmed. Perceptor was rarely wrong. Spec's optics narrowed and he grabbed the smaller mech's neck, pinning him to the berth. Perceptor clawed at his hand as his fingers tightened.

"Spec, don't!" Ratchet pleaded as he vainly tried to tug his ankle free.

The mech glared over his shoulder before looking back down at Perceptor. "You're going to be quiet, and you're going to cooperate, understand?" Spec said quietly. Perceptor gave a quick, terrified nod and Spec let go of him. Before he could start his fight up again, he quickly locked the collar around his neck, locking the plug into place. Spec sighed and ran a hand over his helm even as Ratchet noticed something. He looked at Perceptor and swallowed, seeing the little purple sigil roughly painted on the metal band around his neck.

Spec sighed and shook his head. "You try to run, you die. You put a _pede_ out of line, you die," he murmured, voice sour and bitter as the expression on his face. "Welcome to the Decepticon ranks."


	5. Rule Number One

They were allowed to stay in the medbay that night. The influx of new patients had died down for now and the bay was dim and quiet other than the occasional scuff of feet or quiet murmurings of the two guards that still stood sentry at the door. It seemed peaceful in an odd way. The calm after the carnage was all said and done with.

Despite the quiet, Ratchet couldn't sleep. The metal cuff around his neck felt like it was suffocating him. The metal wasn't even that heavy, but the weight of it felt like a knife against his throat. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position but every time he moved, it felt like the cuff was dragging him down. He tugged and pulled, but when he checked the tightness of the device, he was easily able to slip three fingers under it, though there wasn't enough slack to slip it over his head. He sighed in frustration and shuttered his optics, trying to clear his troubled processor. Peace remained elusive.

Perceptor had called it a kill switch. He was young, but the little scientist was rarely wrong. Ratchet had no delusions that the Cons would show mercy for any mech wearing it that stepped out of line. A quick radio ping sent to the right frequency and they rejoined the Well of Allsparks, their bodies left to hang for spare parts. To Ratchet, it felt like he was halfway there already. Spec's warning hung heavy on his processor, making the metal seem that much tighter.

_Welcome to the Decepticon ranks. _Killing them off was a waste of talent. Talent that they must desperately need. Why else would they go through the trouble of tagging them? The Cons were doing their best to keep them scared and vulnerable, using it to make them compliant. Just as Spec had said, it was a cheap and dirty guarantee. The University mechs would jump as high as they were ordered to to stay alive.

Ratchet rolled onto his side and looked over to see Wheeljack's dim optics staring up at the ceiling. His friends optics flickered to him for a moment before looking back up, focusing on some unknown spot on the plain white tiles.

"What happens now?" Wheeljack asked, keeping his voice barely above a whisper in the quiet medbay. He looked tired and drained, just like Ratchet felt, and he could tell his friend hadn't slept a wink either.

Ratchet shook his head, his optics half lidded and sighed, feeling the last traces of his old self disappear in the gust from his vents. He felt hollow, like the confident University student who had so many prospects had ceased to exist entirely. Instead, a displaced mech had take his spot, drifting along the line between life and death, not knowing which way he would fall and too damn tired to care anymore. "I don't know," he said hopelessly.

Jack ran a hand over his mask, a nervous habit he'd just recently acquired. "Hey… on the bright side, at least we're still alive. That's saying something, right?" he said, giving a weak laugh that sounded closer to a sob.

Ratchet rested his head against his hand, trying not to think too hard about Roadflare and Lunar and the countless others that hadn't been as lucky. "Yeah," he murmured. "At least we have that."

"They wouldn't keep us around if they didn't need us… we just have to bide our time," Wheeljack said and Ratchet could tell he was saying it to assure himself just as much as he was trying to assure Ratchet.

"Bide our time until what?" Ratchet asked.

Wheeljack sighed. "I don't know… rescue? Liberation? Whatever comes first, I suppose," he said. "Until then, we just have to play like good little Decepticons until we can get out of here."

Ratchet looked at his friend. "Would you join up with the Autobots?" he wondered. He'd never really thought about it himself—the war was always so far away, but now he'd been thrown into the midst of it and it felt… necessary to pick a side. He certainly felt no loyalty to the Decepticons, especially not after what they'd done, but did he feel any more loyalty to the far removed Autobots? Did he even know anything about them other than they were the state-sanctioned enforcers? Other than meeting Trailbreaker and one recruiter who had come to talk to their class a couple years ago, Ratchet had had just as little exposure to the Autobots as he had to the Decepticons until a couple of days ago.

Judging by the look on his friends face, Wheeljack had thought just as little about it as he had. "I don't know… but… I guess it feels like we're gonna have to pick a side soon, ya know? I mean… if Praxus and Kaon are really under their control… this might keep getting bigger."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded. The repercussions for attacking Praxus could be monumental. They had been after Kaon. Yet firebombing the entire city hadn't had the desired effect. But the Senate with the Autobots backing them would hit back harder now that the threat had grown even larger, there was no doubt about that… but what then? The Cons had proven after the firebombing of Kaon that they weren't a group that could be easily destroyed.

"I… don't want to make that decision yet," Ratchet admitted and rubbed his helm. He wanted to remain neutral, just live his life happily as a Praxus graduate who would have companies begging him to join up with them.

Wheeljack gave a mirthless laugh. "Hate to say it Ratch, but for now, that decision's been made for us," he murmured and toyed with the band around his neck.

Ratchet snorted, his hand reaching up to tug at the collar. "Well and thoroughly decided for us," he muttered petulantly.

Wheeljack grinned. "Like I said. We'll place nice. Go with this until something changes."

Ratchet sighed. "You make it sound so easy… what if nothing changes? What if we are stuck here until they finally decide to offline us?"

Wheeljack looked at his friend and gave a wry grin. "We wouldn't let that happen," he said. "We'd make the change ourselves."

Ratchet couldn't help but snort a weak laugh and rolled onto his back. A moment of silence passed between the two of them before Ratchet said, "I'm glad you're here, Jack."

Wheeljack chuckled quietly. "I'm not," he said and stretched a bit on the berth. "But since I am, I'm glad you're with me."

Despite everything that had happened, Ratchet smiled as he looked up at the ceiling. "Thanks Jack," he said quietly and closed his optics with a tired sigh.

Sleep never truly came to the young mech, but he hovered comfortable somewhere in between, drifting on a fog until morning. Without him really registering it, Spec appeared over his berth, looking down at him with a frown. It wasn't until the medic shined a light in his optic that Ratchet realized this wasn't some sort of bizarre dream and focused his optics. He looked up at the mech, dazed and a little surprised. Spec snorted.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you?" he asked.

Ratchet frowned and slowly sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "Did you really expect anyone to in here?" he wondered.

Spec gave a thoughtful frown and shrugged. "Point taken." Next to them, Wheeljack sat up as well, looking just as groggy, while Perceptor lay curled up tightly on his side. From his angle, Ratchet couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not.

Without preamble, Spec plugged into Ratchet's system before running a quick scan. "Your repairs took. You're all set," he said and unlocked Ratchet's ankle from the berth.

"Set for what?" he asked warily, even as he looked down at his freed appendage in surprise.

Spec glanced back at him from where he was already running a scan on Wheeljack. "You're a medic, aren't you?" he asked. "Look around you, see what needs to be done."

Ratchet gaped at the mech. "What? No— Spec, that's illegal. I don't have my stripes yet," he protested. He hadn't graduated or gotten his license. For him to practice medicine like this was completely against the law.

Spec finished with Wheeljack before heading to Perceptor who only curled up tighter, even as the mech plugged into him. "You didn't seem to care that much when you were patching up your friends," he pointed out, and Ratchet couldn't think of a reply to that. "Besides, you're a Decepticon now. Who the slag cares if you're breaking some Autobot law? You're qualified. That's all that matters."

Spec unlocked Wheeljack and Perceptor from their berths before whistling loudly. One of the guards by the door looked up and walked over, the sizeable gun in his hands making all three of the University bots nervous. Spec pointed to Ratchet. "That one stays here." Then to Wheeljack. "Engineering," he said and pointed to Perceptor last. "He's a scientist—you can stick him wherever you need him."

The guard nodded before checking his datapad, scrolling down on the screen. "We'll pair him with Landslide," he said.

Spec barely suppressed a wince. "Sorry kid," he muttered and clapped Perceptor on the shoulder.

The young mech looked at them, optics wide and fearful. "What? Sorry—why sorry?" he asked even as the guard grabbed his arm and easily pulled him off the berth and to his feet. The guard ignored him and grabbed Wheeljack as well before steering both of them towards the door.

"Don't even think about it, Ratchet," Spec warned as he made a move to run after them. Ratchet stopped dead in his tracks and swallowed thickly, his tanks churning with fear.

"Spec, please. Perceptor's just a kid! He can help out here—he knows what he's doing," he pleaded. He didn't know who Landslide was, but he could guess it wasn't a good thing to be paired with him.

The medic shook his head. "Sorry, my hands are tied," he said flatly before turning to clean up their now empty berths.

Ratchet spared him an uncertain look before he ran after his friends, screwing the consequences. The terrifying thought hit him that this may be the last time he saw them, and the weight of the idea seemed to drag his spark into his tanks. If this was the last time he would see them, he would never forgive himself if he didn't at least say goodbye. He caught them before they reached the door and yanked both of them out of the startled guard's grip into a tight hug, arms over both of their shoulders. He could feel Perceptor shaking and Wheeljack was tense as a brick wall, but relaxed as he returned the embrace. "It'll be okay," Ratchet whispered, his head close in-between both of theirs. "We'll be okay." He heard Perceptor's quiet whimper before the guard smashed the butt of his gun hard into Ratchet's stomach.

The wind was knocked out of him instantly and he collapsed to his knees, doubled over as his vents struggled to catch up. The guard snorted disdainfully and yanked Perceptor and Wheeljack away from him and out of the sliding medbay doors. Ratchet could barely move and watched helplessly through blurred optics as the doors slid closed behind them with a sense of finality. Whatever fight he had left went out of him and he gasped raggedly, dentals grit so hard that the metal creaked. He rested his helm against the ground, fighting back tears and the boiling scream that threatened to erupt from his vocals. He didn't notice Spec walk up behind him and barely felt the gentle kick of a pede against his.

"Rule number one," Spec said lightly. "The guards? Don't screw with them."


	6. Ancient History

"Hurry up," Spec snapped, his hands buried deep in a mech's internals. The Con had been hit by an acid pellet directly in the chassis and it had eaten through his armor as well as part of his spark chamber. Time was against them, but if they hurried, the mech could pull through. Ratchet hurried over with patch and electro-stabilizer but Spec swore as the monitor hooked to the mech let out a long, flat tone. "Slag it to the pit!" Spec roared and kicked the leg of the berth. He turned a bright, red opticed glare onto Ratchet. "What the pit are you gaping at? You standing there mourning ain't gonna save any more lives. Move onto the next!" he yelled and Ratchet jumped to obey.

After nearly two deca-cycles of being in the medbay, he had come to realize that Spec was decently level headed, at least until a battle took place. With the newest attempt of an Autobot raid on the Kaon, the worst cases were being transported from the field into HQ for treatment. The battle raged so close outside, moving an injured mech from the filth of the battlefield to the sterility of the medbay only helped their chances even if it did delay treatment for a few minutes. Even with the number of medics in the bay, they were so overrun with injured as it was that half of the mechs were dead by the time someone got to them anyway—Ratchet could only imagine what the field medics were dealing with.

The lights in the bay suddenly flickered and the roar of an explosion rocked the walls around them. Spec swore. "They're really going at it this time," he muttered even as he started patching another Con's frayed and leaking internals back together.

"How close are they?" Ratchet asked and as he moved to the mech on the table across from Spec, trying not to focus too hard on the grisly helm injuries that made the mechs' exposed processor spark.

Spec snorted. "Don't get your hopes up, kid," he said. "We've held this city for nearly five vorns—no way a ragtag group of Bots are getting through now." He finished stabilizing the mech and put him in stasis with an energon drip to keep him that way until further repairs could be made. "What the pit are you doing? The mech's good as gone—put him down and get onto the next one."

Ratchet's hand faltered where they were cleaning up the mech's processing circuits. "What? No! I can pull him through," he said and worked fervently to keep the mech under him from slipping into cascade failure.

Spec growled and tried to shove him away. "And while you're trying to bring back a mech who'll be a low functioning drone at best for the rest of his existence, other mechs who could bounce back entirely are dying. _Triage_, Ratchet! Ever heard of it?" he snapped.

Ratchet glared though he didn't take his optics off of mech he was working on. "I know what triage is," he snapped.

"Then do it!" Spec snapped before pointing to the mech under Ratchet's hands. He spoke in a rushed voice, "That mech only has a 15% chance of pulling through, even IF we had all the supplies we needed to fix him." He pointed to the mech that was moaning hoarsely on the berth one over. "_That _one has a 35% chance and his repairs don't use a lot of resources."

Ratchet stubbornly continued to work on the injured mech's processor, glaring down as he cleaned debris from the fritzing circuits. Ever patient deserved a chance. He wasn't just going to leave the mech to die when there was still possibility he could pull through. He'd never had the chance to officially take his oath, but he followed its principles regardless. Every patient had the right to treatment, no matter how bad their injuries were and it was his duty to see them through to the end, whichever end occurred.

Spec snarled and grabbed a laser scalpel out of subspace before driving it through the dying mech's chassis with practiced ease, stabbing him through the spark chamber. Ratchet froze, his hands still poised over the mech's helm as he watched the light dim from his optics, frame convulsing once before he went offline for the last time. "MOVE!" Spec bellowed.

Ratchet gaped at the dead mech in shock and it took a smack upside of the helm from Spec to make him stop staring at the lifeless grey form. He shuddered, and wiped his hands off on a rag, trying to ignore the tremor in his hands. Even as he moved onto the next injured, a mech with a large chunk taken out of his side, he couldn't quiet stop his hands from shaking. After a few minutes of fumbling, he lost the mech and felt the tremors gain momentum. He knew he should stop, collect himself, but he was still too shaken by Spec's outburst to dare and stop. Another mech went in similar fashion under his hands and he wiped his shaking hands on a rag, his vents cycling far too quickly. He tried to move onto the next berth, but Spec grabbed his shoulder and pressed a small cube into his hands. "Down it. Now," he ordered and Ratchet didn't dare disobey.

He threw his head back and drank the cube in one quick gulp, recognizing the bitter taste instantly as cheap highgrade. "Just take a breath and calm down," Spec murmured impatiently and Ratchet nodded, sucking in a few deep gulps of air through his vents. The highgrade wasn't enough to get him overcharged by a long shot, but he felt the tremors in his hands lessen a little as the liquid hit his tanks. "You alright?" Spec asked gruffly. Ratchet swallowed and nodded, even as his vents sputtered on the exhale. "No you're not," Spec snorted. "Just keep breathing, kid. Take it easy." Ratchet gave a weak, slightly hysteric sounding laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion but tried to do as he was told. He closed his optics and sucked in a few more deep breaths, cracking the joints in his fingers to get them to loosen up a little. Spec stood with him until his hands had stopped shaking before asking again, "Are you alright?"

Ratchet looked at the mech and ran a hand over his helm before nodding. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay," he said quietly, only half lying.

Spec gave him a searching look before nodding curtly. "Alright then. Get back to it," he said, almost gently and steered him towards an occupied berth.

Both of them looked up as their comm. system's activated at once, and everyone in the medbay seemed to pause as the news came through. The battle was won. The Autobots had retreated. A cheer rose from the mechs in the bay that were conscious enough to hear the news and Spec grinned broadly before clapping Ratchet on the shoulder. "Get ready kid—it's about to get busy again," he said.

Spec hadn't been joking. As mechs were cleared from the field, the medbay filled up again. Ratchet worked beside Spec, patching, rewiring and stabilizing whatever mech happened to be under his hands. He lost track of how many died and how many lived and a part of his exhausted mind hated, _loathed _the fact that he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. This wasn't the individualized care he'd been taught to give. He was choosing which mechs should have a chance to live and which should be left to die and it was _wrong. _He had been told to never play Primus, and yet here he was, picking and choosing who could have the opportunity to keep living.

They didn't get relief until late into the night, after the field medics had had a chance to rest. When they did show up, they looked just as exhausted as the medbay crew but Ratchet was too tired himself to feel much sympathy. He felt a hand on his shoulder and groaned. "What now?" Ratchet asked, trying to sound angry but ended up just sounding weary far beyond his years.

"Come with me," Spec said quietly and walked out of the bay. Ratchet followed behind him, stumbling with exhaustion. Spec led him through the sparse hallways of HQ and towards the mess hall. It was quiet this late at night, though a few other mechs, mostly medical staff, could be seen sitting in the darkened corners, half asleep over their cubes. Spec swiped his ID through the dispenser and it automatically filled up a cube for him, taking it out of his daily rations. Ratchet did the same and listlessly followed the mech to an empty table. At one point in time, there had been an Autobot symbol embossed on the surface, but someone long ago had scratched it out beyond recognition.

"The Peacekeepers sure knew how to live," Spec murmured and drank deeply from his cube. "The Autobots keep trying to cut off energon supplies, but we've got refineries in Kaon, most of Tyrest and now Praxus that are supplying us."

Ratchet didn't reply and just sipped at his energon, not feeling very hungry as he struggled to keep the memories of the day away. He set his cube down, nearly half full and rested his helm on his hands with a quiet groan.

Spec chuckled quietly. "Better get used to the pace, Ratchet. It happens after every battle, and the fights are coming harder and faster," he said.

Ratchet titled his head up, glaring blearily at the mech. "How do you do it?" he asked.

Spec gave a small shrug. "Drinking your rations help," he said and nodded pointedly to Ratchet's unfinished cube.

The young mech sighed and pulled himself back up before grabbing his cube again. He looked down at the pink liquid but still didn't drink. "How can you _stand_ it?" Ratchet rephrased and looked up at the older mech.

Spec snorted. "Years of practice. I've been on the medical staff here for about five vorns—since they took over Kaon, actually," he murmured. He sipped at his cube and sighed, optics going out of focus a little as he idly traced the scarred remnants of the Autobot symbol on the table. "You think I'm a monster, don't you?" he said after a few moments, more as a statement than a question.

Ratchet almost flinched at the question as it forced him to think about what had happened, causing all of the events of the day to flood back to him. He'd been carefully keeping them repressed, hoping to sleep it all off and forget about everything… but that simple question had opened the doors to let everything spill out. His expression darkened as he glared down at his energon, remembering in vivid detail how a little trail of the pink liquid had escaped from the mech's chassis after Spec had killed him. The shock had worn off long ago and morphed into a deep anger and resentment that bubbled quickly to the surface. "That was my patient," he said quietly, after a long moment of silence.

"What?" Spec asked, having long ago turned his attention elsewhere, guessing that Ratchet wasn't going to answer.

"That was _my _patient, Spec," Ratchet repeated, his voice gaining volume with every word. "He was _my _responsibility, not yours and you killed him. You had no right! He was MY patient!"

Spec snorted and leaned back in his chair to stretch, wings flaring out on either side of him as though completely unaware of the furious mech sitting across from him. He carelessly folded his hands behind his back and surveyed the young mech.

"Ratchet, you're a doctor, not a medic," he sat at last. "You've been trained to give every patient close, personal attention, which anywhere else, would make you a very good doctor, but that ain't how things work here," he said seriously. "We work fast, and we work efficiently. We don't waste time with lost causes or mechs who can't possibly make a full recovery— when it boils down, it becomes a waste of resources and time that could be spent saving someone else." Spec sighed and shook his head before rubbing his optics tiredly before muttering, "Only during war does saving lives become a business. I know you don't think it's fair, and in a lot of ways, it isn't. You were trained to be a doctor in times of peace, not a medic in war time. Your priorities will change… it won't seem so awful after awhile."

Ratchet had felt his temper reaching critical levels as the mech spoke and he slammed his fist against the table out of sheer frustration. "Spare me your sanctimonious justification you _son_ _of a_ _glitch_!" he yelled, not caring that the few other mechs in the room had turned to stare. He'd already lost too many friends to the budding war to let someone murder one of his patients, even if he had been a soldier. His hand shook where it lay planted against the table and he saw Spec's optics flick towards it.

"See, that right there shows I made the right decision," he said and pointed to Ratchet's hand. "They wanted to send you out to be a field medic—I told them you wouldn't last a day out there." He tilted his head and smirked. "You get scared too easily, kid. I would even say you're scared right now, even while talking to me, huh?" He shook his head. "Why the slag are you getting so worked up over a mech you didn't even know? You don't even know what his name was, do you?" he asked and Ratchet just glared heatedly. "Didn't think so," he snorted, a sardonic grin on his face. "I hate to say it Ratchet, but if the sight of a mech dying scares you… you chose the wrong profession."

Ratchet wanted to hit the mech and wipe the condescending smirk off of his face. "If I didn't have this collar around my neck, I'd show you how scared I am," Ratchet threatened and Spec actually laughed and shook his head, like he was listening to a sparkling argue. It only helped make Ratchet angrier.

"Primus, no need for threats, mech. I'm just yanking your chain. You need to learn to calm down or you'll die of spark failure before anything else has a chance to get to you."

Ratchet seethed as he got to his feet, knowing he needed to leave before he fragged the consequences and attacked the mech anyway. "Frag you, Spec," he growled and stepped past him. "You're a bunch of barbarians. I bet you wouldn't see Autobots betray one of their own like that. No wonder they're trying to shut you down."

A hand shot out and grabbed Ratchet's wrist and yanked him back down into his seat. "Sit your aft down," Spec growled, his red optics glowing a little brighter. Ratchet swallowed, his own optics widened at the look of sheer anger that had replaced the teasing nonchalance. "What the pit would _you _know? A pampered little University bot who's never stepped foot in a southern city until now?" Ratchet swallowed and opened his mouth to try and talk his way out but the mech tightened his grip almost painfully. "The Autobots are _scum, _Ratchet. Do you know what I did before I joined the Decepticons?" he asked.

Ratchet swallowed and shook his head nervously, seeing the almost manic anger in the mech's optics. "I was an interrogator. I worked here, actually, in the Kaon Peacekeeper HQ," he said.

Ratchet optics widened "But that means you were—"

"An Autobot," Spec finished for him, a sneer on his face. "I tried to join the Peacekeepers—wanted to train to be a medic. You know what they said to me?" he asked, and Ratchet could practically feel the tirade bubbling up in the mech. "They said I had a 'penchant for violence'—said I'd be better suited to something else. Regardless, they didn't give me a grant to start medical training. Instead, they took the cheap route and made me an interrogator. I wasn't happy about it, but I couldn't complain too much, I was a poor mech and I needed a job. In a way, they were right—I was good at what I did, even if I did hate ever pit slagged second of it," he growled. "I was a loyal little pawn, just like they wanted. I was an interrogator for them for _thirteen_ vorns, yet as soon as mechs from Kaon and then Tyrest started rebelling, I was automatically under suspicion of being a sympathizer."

Ratchet swallowed, his tanks clenching uncomfortably. "Why?"

Spec tapped his helm, right next to his optics. "I was a poor mech from Kaon with red optics. And so were the mechs that were rebelling. They started calling themselves Decepticons—setting them apart from the Autobots and my employers started to wonder if I was one of them. I dealt with the racist suspicions and just kept to my job. It was _my _duty to interrogate the Decepticons rebels they brought in and they _still_ suspected that I was a traitor." Spec finally let go of Ratchet's wrist and ran an agitated hand over his helm, as though wondering if he should go on. Ratchet stayed frozen in his chair, starting at the older mech in shock before Spec finally spoke again, his voice quieter, more subdued. "And then… the Autobots arrested my mate, just because she had red optics and was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I don't know what the higher ups were thinking," Spec muttered, his voice only getting quieter. "I can only guess they wanted to test me, be sure I was the Autobot they hoped I was... They were convinced my mate was a Con so they decided to have me be the one to interrogate her for information." He rubbed his face tiredly and Ratchet stared at him in shock. Ratchet swallowed thickly, shuddering in horror. A spark bond was, in essence, sharing your soul with another being—if one is in pain, the other would feel it. He remembered a bonded couple coming into the medbay one time after one of them had their legs crushed in an accident. His mate had been barely able to walk from the residual pain.

Spec noticed the look on his face and snorted disdainfully. "Primus, you must really think I'm the lowest scum on the planet if you think I did it. Of course I slagging refused." He shook his head and sat back a little in his chair, the anger ebbing from his voice and making him just sound tired. "They called me a Con and had me arrested for passing along classified information. I was behind bars for nearly a vorn, waiting to be executed until the Decepticons took control of HQ."

A long silence passed as Ratchet digested the information, his tanks churning. "What happened to your mate?" he finally asked.

Spec gave a quiet huff of a laugh, devoid of any humor. "The Decepticons liberated Kaon three days too late," he whispered and rubbed his optics, a pained grimace on his face. "They'd already had her executed for treason."

Ratchet shuddered, his armor clanking quietly even as he rubbed his neck. "Primus," he whispered.

Spec nodded silently as he looked down at the empty cube that sat forgotten on the table. Ratchet swallowed as he saw the anger and the betrayal written on the mech's face and even though he never thought it was possible, even though he couldn't agree with the side he chose, he understood.

"You get it now," Spec murmured. "Autobots aren't any better than we are." He shook his head and closed his optics for a long moment before saying, "They think they're fighting off another uprising… but we're more than that. We're starting a revolution. We're the workers, the miners, the soldiers—the second rate citizens. Autobots are the merchants, the politicians—the mechs on top and they want to keep it that way… All we want is equality, Ratchet. And the only way to do that is show them we aren't going to sit around and let Cybertron be built on our backs while they keep our faces shoved in the dirt. We're going to rise up… by any means necessary."

Both mechs were quiet for a long time, neither looking at the other. Finally, Spec looked up at him and breathed a small sigh. "Ratchet, we need trained mechs… you wouldn't have to wear that collar if you joined us," he said quietly. "I know you don't believe it but you'd be fighting for the right side." Ratchet swallowed and kept his optics down, looking at the desecrated Autobot symbol on the table that seemed glare up at him, as though waiting for his decision. He held no loyalty to either cause before, but Spec's story cut him deeper than he was willing to admit and for a brief moment, he actually considered it. As soon as the thought surfaced, it was replaced by his own memories that boiled up, unbidden, and before he could stop himself, he was talking.

Words tumbled almost reflexively from his vocals, like a floodgate slowly opening. He told Spec everything. He told him about Praxus and how the war had never really seemed possible there, hemmed out by the cities perfectly kept gates. He told him about that night at the club and how he'd gone from the highest he'd ever felt to the lowest in a matter of seconds. He told him about the mech with the bomb strapped in his chassis and how he had still had nightmares of dying like that, helpless and completely alone, knowing that you and everyone around you was about to die and it was entirely, indisputably your fault. He told him about how Lunar was the only reason he was still alive and how the guilt seemed to eat at him like a virus every time he thought that if their positions had been switched, she would still be alive. He told him about how he'd never gotten the chance to grieve over the loss of two of his closest friends or even see their bodies off properly to the Well. He even told him about Trailbreaker and how the Autobot had chosen death at the end of a long drop instead of being caught and interrogated by the Decepticons. He told him how it killed him not knowing if Wheeljack and Perceptor were alright, or even alive anymore and how it hurt every time he thought about them, remembering the fear in Wheeljack's tense frame and the shaking terror in Perceptor's as he touched them, hugged them for the last time.

He wasn't sure how long he talked for, but Spec sat across from him and just listened, barely moving. It was like talking to a statue except the mech's optics reflected a sadness Ratchet had come to know well. Maybe he knew Ratchet needed to get it off his chassis, or maybe he was just too polite to interrupt, but either way, he didn't speak the entire time, and when Ratchet finally tapered off he simply nodded and put a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. Ratchet was shaking from head to foot and he just couldn't seem to stop it. The anger had ebbed from him entirely, leaving him a broken mess, struggling to hold all of the pieces together.

"I'm sorry Spec, but I can't," Ratchet whispered, his voice cracking. "I can't—I _won't_ join the mechs who did this." He was terrified to look up, afraid to see that his trust had been misplaced and he'd be killed for even admitting he was lost to the Decepticon cause.

The hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment and Ratchet dared to look up, shocked to see a small, sad smile on Spec's face as the older mech looked at him. "I understand," he said quietly and that was all Ratchet needed to hear. He laid his head down on his hands and grieved.


	7. Meister

Thanks to everyone who followed this story over from the old location! This was originally posted in the movie Transformers section before I realized that it would be better placed over here. And thanks for all the reviews and favs! Things were getting a little too dark for me so I tried to make this chapter a little lighter while still getting out what needed to get out. Enjoy!

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><p>At first, there was certain sort of comfort in routine. On a normal day, Ratchet would wake up in the barracks with the other mechs who shared his shift, drink his morning ration and then hurry to the medbay for his double shift. For the most part, the days were peaceful at HQ. Battles rarely got close enough for injured to be brought in to the bay, and on those rare occasions where mechs were flown in from the field, Ratchet was pushed aside to let one of the more experienced medics handle it. Unless they were overwhelmed, Ratchet was usually assigned to grunt work; software updated, maintenance checkups, inventory, all things that no one wanted to do, but still needed to be done.<p>

Ratchet didn't really mind as the alternative was periodically being sent to the battlefield like the rest of the medical staff was. Even Spec would disappear for days at a time to the battles raging at the edges of Kaon and now Praxus, only to return exhausted and streaked with grime and dried fluids. After their long talk half a deca cycle ago, he and the older medic had come to a certain, unspoken understanding about what Ratchet would and would not do concerning the Decepticon forces. Being killed on the field for a cause he didn't believe in was not something he would do and Spec seemed to respect that.

"I know what it's like to be forced into something you don't want," he'd murmured to Ratchet when the young medic had dared to speak his fears. Spec said that as long as he did his job well and without complaint and kept his head down, he would stay off of the field.

Spec wasn't CMO or even a high ranking mech inside of the medical staff, and Ratchet knew he had to pull some strings to keep Ratchet in the bay. He tried to thank the mech but Spec just waved it off. "I told the CMO you're worthless under stress," Spec had said with a wry grin. "Said you'd probably do more damage than help—hey don't give me that look! Better to let them think you're incompetent than have you sent out there."

Even though he hated to admit it, the damage to his reputation was worth being kept off of the field. Besides, he was beginning to find that he actually liked the busy work around the medbay. Little things like software updates and maintenance checks were, in a strange way, kind of fun. He actually got to relax a bit and talk to the mechs that came through. It made everything feel a little less lonely when he was listening to another tell their story. Not all the mechs that came through were social, and some where even downright mean, but Ratchet gave each one of them the attention they deserved before sending them on their way.

It was a routine, cyclical and Ratchet fell into the pattern of it easily, but soon, the repetition started to wear on him. He didn't know if it was because he was the new guy, or if it was because he wasn't technically affiliated with the Decepticons, but either way, Ratchet hadn't gotten a day off in the three deca-cycles he'd been at HQ. Waking up every day to more drudge work without an end in sight was taking its toll on the young bot. The routine of his day slowly turned from comfortable to sour and he wondered if the monotony or the pace would kill him first.

But then, on his list of bots waiting for maintenance, a mech named Meister popped up. The mech was long overdue for a maintenance check and no one on the medical staff had managed to cajole, order or otherwise bully him into the medbay for a scan. The mech seemed to think it was a game. Unfortunately, no one but him was willing to play anymore.

Spec chuckled as he read the datapad over his shoulder. "Ooh don't even bother with that one," he said. "He's been at HQ for the past vorn and still has yet to step foot in this medbay."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge—that was a long time to go without maintenance. Most mechs would be fritzing bad by now. "What's his deal?" he wondered.

"Special Ops," Spec said with a snort. "Mechs are fragging paranoid but at least this guy has a sense of humor about it. He kinda turns it into a game for himself—how long he can dodge a medic before they give up. CMO's even put a bounty of sorts out for him. Anyone who manages to bring him in for maintenance gets three days of leave."

Ratchet whistled. The medical staff was small and for anyone to get a day off was a rare treat. Two days off was practically unheard of. Three days of leave _was_ unheard of. "Primus. Do all Spec Ops mechs give you guys such a hard time?" he wondered.

Spec chuckled. "Sometimes. They carry a lot of classified info. Don't like anyone rooting around in their systems if they can help it," he said. "Usually we just wait until they come in injured before we give 'em the updates. Meister though… I don't think the mech's gotten any worse than a scratch since he's been here."

"He must be good," Ratchet said even as he brought out a datapad, accessing the profile info on everyone in base with a few quick taps of his stylus.

"He's slagging good," Spec said. "Rumor says he's provided some important Autobot intel. He's moved up the ranks quickly—they have him reporting directly to Soundwave now."

Ratchet whistled again as he pulled up the mech's profile, taking a look at the logged picture. He was an unassuming, common build—no way to determine a city of origin, though only native Praxians had any obvious distinguishing features if you didn't look at building materials. He had a simple black and white paint scheme with a red visor that obscured the top half of his face and he was one of the few mechs that was smiling in his ID picture. He didn't look that tough. "I'll get him in here," he said.

Spec laughed and shook his head. "We've all tried Ratchet. Not a one of us has managed to do it," he said. "Meister takes his games seriously and he _always_ wins."

Ratchet flashed a grin. "Yeah, but you don't realize how badly I want those three days off," he said. "I'm the grunt, remember? I don't _get _days off otherwise."

Spec snorted, realizing that he was serious. "Keep it to your off hours," he said. "And don't say I didn't warn ya."

* * *

><p>The hunt was over before it even began. After his shift ended, Ratchet had planned on getting his rations and head to the barrack that the mech was supposedly sleeping in, but he only got as far as his evening cube before he found him. Or rather the Meister found Ratchet. Ratchet hadn't even been paying attention until the black and white mech walked straight up to him as he was grabbing his energon from the dispenser, plucked the cube out of his hand and took a deep sip.<p>

"Heard you were lookin' for me," Meister said, flashing a bright grin as he twirled the half empty cube in his fingers. Through his shock, Ratchet had the vague thought that the picture on his file failed to reflect the arrogance in the slag-eating grin the mech wore. Ratchet opened his mouth to retort but the black and white mech cut him off, making his glossa seem to shrivel up. "Naaw, don't even bother asking how I know. If ya have to ask, ya don't deserve ta know and if ya don't deserve ta know, why would I bother t' tell ya? Now, let me give ya the head's up, Ratchet," Meister said as he flung an arm around Ratchet's shoulder, steering the shocked mech to an empty table in the corner as he pressed the cube back into his hands. He sat him down with a gentle push but stayed standing, leaning heavily against the table. From this angle, the mech towered over Ratchet who slid back on the bench a little, holding his remaining energon close. "I ain't going to medical. I've told those medibot friends of yours I'm just fine handlin' myself and I don't want then hurlin' the newbie after me in hopes I'll take pity on your poor spark, ya dig? Might as well just tell them ta give up and send ya back ta cleaning tailpipes," he said with a grin that could charm rust off of metal.

Ratchet gaped up at the mech, trying to think of something to say and failing miserably. Was off-balancing people a talent of Spec Ops mechs? Ratchet wasn't sure—this was the first time he'd ever met one. Meister chuckled and shook his head, seeming to interpret Ratchet's silence as something to laugh about. He tapped the mech's cheek in a gentle pat. "I'm glad we had this talk," he said. He made to straighten up and stop looming over Ratchet but something seemed to catch his optic. He leaned in close and gently reached for Ratchet's collar, tugging at the little strip of metal with his fingers. Ratchet tensed nervously as Meister traced the roughly painted Decepticon sigil on the band with his thumb and frowned. "What is this?" he asked.

Ratchet shook the mech off with a glare, his shock finally dissipating and leaving his glossa right where it was supposed to be. "If you have to ask, you don't deserve to know," he retorted and Ratchet saw the slight brightening of the mech's optics behind his red visor as a smirk quirked the corner of his lips. There was something dangerous in that smile and Ratchet suddenly wondered if he had just made a terrible mistake.

Meister straightened up and scratched behind one of the sensory horns on his helm as he looked down at the medic. Ratchet dared to lean forward and grabbed his cube, finishing off what was left of his rations though he didn't take his optics off of Meister. He was trying his best not to look intimidated by the crazy mech even if every ounce of his common sense said three days off was not worth it.

"I think I like you," Meister said at last, tilting his head to the side as though he was examining a very interesting animal. "You're not like the others—you might actually have a chance at this game." Ratchet raised an optic ridge and tried to keep his face impassive even as the visor covered optics seemed to read him like a datapad. The mech didn't sound sarcastic… in fact, he almost sounded intrigued. "What's the bounty the good Doc's put on my head now?"

Ratchet gave a tentative grin, which Meister actually returned. Ratchet dared to relax a little. "Three days of leave," he said.

Meister barked a laugh. "Slag, I'm worth that much to him? I'm flattered," he said.

"Flattered enough to come with me to the medbay?" Ratchet asked, but the smirk on the mech's face was all the answer he needed.

Meister patted Ratchet's cheek like a creator indulging his sparkling. "Not a chance." He flashed another one of those perfect grins before straightening up, giving Ratchet his personal space back. "The game's on m' mech. It's my move."

* * *

><p>Three days later, Ratchet was regretting every assumption he'd made about the Spec Ops mech. He was not charming, he was not crazy and he was not <em>harmless<em>. He was the spawn of Unicron and no one could convince Ratchet otherwise.

"I warned ya," Spec said cheerfully and clapped Ratchet on the shoulder as the young mech stared, dumbstruck at the fruits of Meister's latest labor. At first, it had been small things. His ID missing, his daily rations mysteriously gone before he'd even gotten his morning cube—annoying, but not unbearable. But this… this was Meister taking his game to a whole new level.

Ratchet ran a hand over his face, pinching his cheek to see if he was actually awake or not, because this had to be some sort of bizarre nightmare. His work station and all of the contents within—the one area of this Primus forsaken base that was specifically given to him had somehow, _miraculously_ even, been magnetized to the ceiling. Even as Ratchet stared up at it, he saw that everything from his cup of styluses to his sanitized laser scalpels were perfectly in their place, minus the fact that they were currently stuck to his desk that hung a good 40 feet off of the ground. Ratchet was a decently tall mech at 24 feet, but there was no way he could reach his work station, even if he could figure out how the slag to get it unstuck.

"How did he even _do_ this?" Ratchet asked, spotting his ID card stuck perfectly on the corner of his work station. _That _was certainly not something he'd left behind overnight. The thought of Meister somehow managing to sneak into his barrack while he was sleeping and _steal_ his fragging _ID _out of subspace made the seams in his armor close reflexively. Not to mention, he'd be without his rations until he got the card back. Another day going hungry for him, it seemed.

Spec looked cheerier than Ratchet had ever seen him before. In fact, he looked downright jolly. "Well, look on the bright side Ratch—you got him into the medbay," he said jovially and another one of the medics choked on his laugh.

Ratchet glared balefully around the medbay, seeing that the majority of the staff was trying their best not to laugh. The rest of the medical staff must enjoy Meister's games as well, at least when it wasn't them on the receiving end of his pranks.

"Spec, I need you to do something for me," Ratchet said. This needed to end—he had work to be done, but all of his inventory sheets were in the drawer of his desk.

Spec chuckled. "Oh no, you're not dragging me into this," he said. "I had my run with Meister. I'm not waking up with wings bolted to my berth again."

Ratchet growled in frustration and looked around the medbay. "Anyone? Does _anyone_ in here have the ball-bearings to help me?" Ratchet snapped and heard a snicker from somewhere at the far end of the bay. Ratchet sighed petulantly. "Fine ya droid-humping cowards," he muttered, even as his optics fell on the two guards that stood by the door. They changed out randomly, but they were all similar builds—big, bulky and packed full of weapons. "Hey you two," he called and the two guards looked up. Ratchet reached into subspace, pulling out his remaining creds. It wasn't a lot—just what he'd taken with him to the club back in Praxus, but it might do. He walked over to the guards and held up the datapad with Meister's picture grinning mockingly up at him. "I got 50 creds for each of you if you bring me this mech."


	8. Praxian

Hello everyone and welcome to the second story arc! I hope you're enjoying the story so far cause it's only going to get bigger from here. If there's stuff you like or stuff you didn't like, please leave a review so I know what to keep doing or to change! (I'm a former creative writing major- critiques are kinda my life :P) Enjoy the next part!

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><p>With his head held high, a grin on his face and a slight spring in his step, Ratchet made his way to the medbay that next day. He was feeling confident—the two guards, Aeroknife and Astrotrain were their names, he discovered, had seemed all too happy to help, though whether it was because of the credit reward or simply the chance to beat the slag out of someone, he wasn't sure. Regardless, he had no doubt that the two big mechs would be successful in bringing Meister to him. Whether the mech was still functioning after they did it was yet to be seen.<p>

Still, his spirits were high. He had at least managed to convince Spec to kick his thrusters on long enough to float up and get his ID unstuck from his desk, but even then, Ratchet was sure he only did it to keep him alert at work. A mech who was low on a fuel was a mech that couldn't focus and Spec wouldn't allow that. So with his tanks fueled, Ratchet walked into the medbay.

If he was expecting to be greeted with the usual indifference of the rest of the medical staff showed him, he was sorely mistaken. All optics were on him as he walked in and Ratchet noticed there seemed to be a gathering around where his work bench usually stood. His optics automatically went to the ceiling and found that his work bench had been removed, but as Ratchet pushed his way through the throng, his good mood disappeared like metal under an acid pellet.

His work station had been returned to its original place on the ground, but with two extra additions cuffed to each side of it. Aeroknife and Astrotrain glared up at Ratchet from the ground, their wrists cuffed to the berth by a set of magnabonds. Astrotrain tried to shout something at Ratchet but his voice was muffled by the metal plate that had been welded over his mouth. Undeterred, he swore and cursed at Ratchet unintelligibly as the young medic approached his workbench. On the chrome surface of the table, a message had been scrawled and Ratchet's optics nearly fritzed, his anger skyrocketing as he read it.

_The key's on them… somewhere._

"Who the slag was on duty last night?" Ratchet snapped and glared around the room, though not surprisingly, no one answered. He growled in frustration and grabbed his wrench off of his work table before hucking it as hard as he could into the surrounding group. A few surprised mechs just barely ducked out of the way but Ratchet was too livid to care about the enemies he might be making. "I'll check the fragging security tapes if I have to—WHO was on DUTY?" he roared.

A smug looking mech shrugged as he stepped forward—Ratchet couldn't remember his name, though he knew he'd learned it. "Me'n Forcep were but we didn't see a thing. We turn our backs for a breem to double-check supplies in the store room and when we came out, they were there. We already checked the vid—doesn't show slag. One second they're gone, the next they're there."

Ratchet felt an ache forming behind his optic as a litany of swears poured from his vocals. "We already tried overriding the locks—you could maybe try cutting them," Spec said helpfully even as he headed back to his own work station, waving it off as Ratchet's problem now that he was here. Some of the other medics took his lead and headed back to their duties, though a few continued to linger nearby, just wanting to watch the spectacle.

Ratchet felt his anger ebb as he looked helplessly around at them before swallowing and daring to meet optics with the two guards cuffed to his station. Astrotrain continued to shout and snarl behind his gag while Aeroknife's red optics were narrowed into slits, promising death. From the looks they were giving him, Ratchet was afraid he'd burst into flames if he so much as touched either one of them.

"Do either of you have any idea where the key is?" Ratchet dared to ask.

Astrotrain howled and stomped a foot against the ground in what Ratchet could only guess was an elaborate 'no' before proceeding to tug ferociously at the cuffs, scooting the heavy table across the ground a bit and making Aeroknife's scowl darken as he was jostled in the process.

"Primus, if you hold still for a second, I'll find it and let you out," Ratchet snapped. Astrotrain's system growled, but he settled down a bit, stiff as a rock. The last thing Ratchet wanted to do was get close enough for the mech to kick him, but to find the key, he had to enter the danger zone. Slowly, he crept forward, craning his neck to get a good look at both of them to see if the key was anywhere in sight. He didn't have a lot of hope—Meister wouldn't be kind enough to put the key in an easy to reach spot. Soon, he resorted to dipping his fingers under armor seams, searching for any trace of the key card.

Astrotrain's expression tended to change from furious to mortified, depending on where Ratchet's fingers explored and his frame twitched as he resisted the urge to kick, his hands flexing behind the cuffs, as though itching to strangle something. After a few agonizing minutes of searching, Aeroknife sighed and shifted uncomfortably, folding his legs to try and ease the strain on his arms. Ratchet didn't pay him any attention, still focused on Astrotrain until Aeroknife kicked his back. Ratchet swore as the force of the big mech's kick nearly sent him tumbling into Astrotrain's lap. He was about to shout something unpleasant at the bound guard, but Aeroknife had his pede lifted up, showing the key card stuck in between two armor plates on the underside of his treads

Ratchet felt Astrotrain relax before his litany of muted swears started tumbling from behind the gag again. The young medic ignored him and quickly plucked the keycard from Aeroknife's foot and unlocked his wrists. The big black mech wasted no time in reaching up and tearing off the strip of metal welded over his mouth, leaving raw scrapes on his faceplates.

Ratchet winced. "Primus, I would have gotten it off for you," he said but Aeroknife just glared silently before tossing the metal strip at Ratchet, plunked it off of his chassis and promptly walking out of the medbay. A kick in the knee and a muffled curse from Astrotrain reminded him that he still had another prisoner attached to his work bench, and he was just as eager to be rid of them as they were to be rid of him.

He swiped the keycard and barely had time to register the click of the disengaging locks before hands were wrapped around his throat, his head slamming against something hard. He vaguely wondered how he'd gotten onto his work bench so quickly before Astrotrain bared down on him, determined to choke the lights out of him. Ratchet felt the delicate components on his neck bend under the strength of the big triple changer and he gagged, flailing and kicking fiercely to try and dislodge the mech.

Suddenly, Astrotrain froze and Ratchet saw the glint of a laser scalpel pressed against the mech's neck, just over one of his main energon lines. "Let him go," Spec said, red optics narrowed.

Astrotrain let go of Ratchet immediately and the young medic coughed violently, trying to clear out his wheezing intakes. The triplechanger roughly yanked off the gag over his mouth, not caring that it took a few layers of his faceplate off with it and snarled. "Mech set me up," he growled. "He didn't tell me it was a Spec Ops mech."

Spec snorted and kept the sparking blade against the mech's neck. "You have a datapad and a working processor—I hope. You could have accessed the base records as easy as anyone. Just because you're too big of a glitch to check doesn't mean you can take it out on _my_ work droid, got it?" He gave Astrotrain a shove towards the door. "Make like your friend and get the frag out of my medbay or I'll use _your_ parts to replaced what you damaged in him," he said and jerked a thumb at Ratchet.

Astrotrain looked like he might protest but with one last glower at Ratchet, he decided it wasn't worth it and headed for the doors. Spec flicked his laser scalpel back into subspace before looking at Ratchet, heaving an exasperated sigh. "I told you not to bother with Meister," he said even as he pushed Ratchet's shoulder to get him to lie back down on the work table. He tilted Ratchet's head back with a tap under his chin and looked at his neck, leaning in close to examine the dented components for any severe damage.

Ratchet just closed his optics and focused on sucking air in through his vents, knowing Spec would set him straight. "He'll never attack you himself—at least not while you're looking, but Meister's got an uncanny ability to make others hate your slagging cogs," Spec murmured. He grabbed a datapad stylus from Ratchet's drawer before jamming it under a dented piece of metal on his neck. He popped it outwards with a quick twist before tossing the stylus back in its drawer. Ratchet gasped as his main airway opened up fully again and he dragged in a few ragged breaths, his frame relaxing against the table. Spec patted his shoulder. "You'll be fine," he promised. "Just… don't get yourself killed, alright?"

Ratchet sat up and rubbed his sore neck, shaking slightly as he watched Spec head back to his own project. Whatever thinly veiled humor that had been in the medbay had disappeared as everyone kept their attention doggedly on their work and determinedly away from him. Ratchet gingerly got off of the table and looked down at the message scraped into it. A dark look crossed over his face as he grabbed small sander, usually used to smooth rough edges on armor and scraped it over the surface, erasing the message in a whirl of sparks and metal chips. As the last jagged letter disappeared, so did his thoughts of Meister and, along with it, his hopes of seeing the outside world.

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><p>When Ratchet didn't play his turn, Meister backed off. The couple of times Ratchet glimpsed the mech in the mess hall, he would flash that perfect superiority-complex-slag-sucking grin, before ducking out of sight. There wasn't a doubt in Ratchet's mind that the mech had heard of Astrotrain's recent attempt to kill him and was undoubtedly feeling very smug about it. No matter how badly Ratchet wanted to slap that self-satisfied grin off his face, he'd given up. He hadn't survived this far just to be killed by a sadistic Spec Ops mech in his version of entertainment and three days off simply wasn't worth being choked by Astrotrain again.<p>

It wasn't two days after his near death experience that he realized just how desperately he needed those three days of freedom.

No claxons sounded, no air raid sires, nothing to warn the medical staff other than the quiet hiss of the doors and the scraping thud of pedes as a group of mechs were herded into the room. They all looked the same; dirty, battered, covered in grime and fluids, but one mech caught his optic. Maybe it was because he was being carried in by two others or maybe it was because he had the trademark door wings of a native Praxian, but either way, Ratchet motioned for him to be laid down on his work table.

His spark sank as he took in the damage. The mech had been shot through in three different places and was leaking badly, the majority of his fluids coating his armor. By some miracle though, he remained conscious. He turned dim blue optics up to Ratchet and through the grime and energon spattered over his face, Ratchet recognized him. He'd never known his name, but he recognized his face as one of the mechs he'd seen on the shuttle from Praxus. Not a university mech, but a regular civilian who'd been stolen away from home just like the rest of them. On his shot and scorched chassis was a sloppily painted Decepticon sigil that stood out an ugly purple against his brown paint.

His hand reached up and grabbed Ratchet's as the medic gently touched his chassis to examine the charred holes. "I recognize you," the mech wheezed, his voice laden with static and pain. "You… tried to save that mech in the shuttle."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded—it had been awhile since he'd thought about Ion and he wasn't sure how much he wanted the topic to be brought up again. "Yeah, that was me," he murmured. "I'll do better by you though, okay?" When Wheeljack and Perceptor had been taken away, he'd though every link to his past had been cut off from him. Yet even now, three deca-cycles later someone had shown back up and opened the hole he'd been trying so desperately to cover up. He gently started patching the mech's injuries but the hand grabbed his again.

"Don't," he whispered, voice hoarse with pain. "Let me go."

Ratchet frowned. "It's okay—I'll have you fixed up soon, just hold still," he said but the mech held onto his hand with a surprising amount of strength for his condition.

His optics unfocused as he looked at a spot on the wall, staring at something that Ratchet couldn't hope to see. "T-they made us kill those mechs," he whispered, his optics overly bright. "They _made _us."

Ratchet stopped, his free hand in his desk drawer, searching for his sander. He looked at the mech in surprise, "What? What mechs?" he asked.

The mech continued to stare at the far wall and for a moment, Ratchet thought he couldn't answer. Then finally, "Took us back to Praxus," the mech choked out, his hand tightening painfully on Ratchet's hand, making him wince. He was obviously delirious, but the mention of Praxus sent a chill through Ratchet's system. "The city is gone—they burnt it all down." His vents stuttered before he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. "We gunned them down… we gunned them _all _down."

Ratchet's vents stalled and he stared at the mech in horror, unable to even comprehend what he was saying. The mech's frame shuddered in pain and Ratchet snapped himself out of it. He had a job to do. "Hey, it's okay—"

The mech grabbed Ratchet's collar and yanked him down, his optics wide and frantic as they refocused on him. "They made us!" he yelled weakly before he slumped back against the berth, the pain overtaking him. "Primus forgive me… they made us…"

"Hey, just take it easy. I'm gonna take care of you," Ratchet said, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice as he pried his hand out of the mech's grip.

The mech's hand fell limply back onto the table even as she shook his head. "Nononono," he moaned. "P-please… you have to help me."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded. "Sit tight. I'll get you patched up," he said and patted his shoulder.

The mech's swatted his hand away, his vents sputtering. "I don't want this," he gasped, his voice taking a frenzied edge again. "Don't let them use me again."

Ratchet's spark seemed to freeze as he understood. Uncertainly, he looked over his shoulder. Spec was busy helping another mech on the other side of the bay, far out of audio reach. Ratchet swallowed quietly even as he looked down at the broken mech. "What do you want me to do?" Ratchet asked quietly.

The mech's optics focused on Ratchet's face. "I don't want to die one of them," he said quietly. "I'm already dying a murderer… don't let me die a Con."

Ratchet met the mech's optics, seeing the pain and guilt lurking behind them. He swallowed and nodded, easily sympathizing with the feeling. "Okay," he said quietly and quickly grabbed a bottle of sterilizer. It was a stronger, less refined brand than they'd used at the Academy and stripped the paint off of anything it was applied to. Ratchet's hands had been stripped of their usual red in places from being in contact with the stuff, but it went to good use as he doused a rag with it and wiped away the purple sigil on the mech's chassis. The paint was cheap and came off easily, only taking a little of the brown underneath away.

The mech craned his neck to look down at his chassis before slumping back against the berth, a weak grin spreading over his cracked and battered faceplates. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ratchet didn't know what to do—it was already too late to save the mech at this point, but it didn't feel right to leave him in his last moments. The Praxian looked up at him as his vents sputtered and died, a sure sign that he was on his way out. "There's one left," the mech wheezed even as he reached into subspace, pulling out a scrap of paper with hastily written numbers scrawled over it. "Here," he whispered and handed it to Ratchet. "I tried to go back for him— tried to run but they gunned me down too." Ratchet swallowed as he looked down at the paper, realizing that the numbers were coordinates. The mech's frame shuddered against the berth and his optics started to dim. "Please," he gasped. "Help him."

The dying wish had barely left his vocals before the mech's system shut off, his spark too weak to sustain it any longer. The mech slipped offline quickly, his face going slack. He looked almost peaceful now that his face wasn't contorted by pain and guilt. Ratchet sighed, trying to swallow the sick feeling in his tanks, even as he subspaced the little scrap of paper.

"Did you know him?"

Ratchet tensed instantly, coolant beading on his helm as he turned around to face Spec. The mech regarded him levelly as he wiped his stained hands with a cleaning rag. He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there. Ratchet swallowed and shook his head. "No… I didn't," he said quietly. "Primus… I don't even know his name."

Spec sighed and shook his head. "Don't ever try to learn it," he murmured and tossed him the rag. "It's just gonna be another name that hangs on your spark." Ratchet swallowed thickly even as he caught the rag. He wiped the traces of the mech's fluids off of his fingers, looking down at the Praxian's offlined frame.

During his three deca-cycles in Kaon, he hadn't been certain of anything until now.

In his spark, he knew what the mech said was true. Praxus was gone. But somewhere in the ruins, a mech was still alive.

And he needed to find Meister.


	9. Negotiations

Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Between my dad being hospitalized and drama everywhere, I haven't been in the mood much to write. The next chapter is one I've been excited to write, so I don't think it'll take as long. Thanks for your patience!

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><p>The last thing Ratchet wanted to do was step foot in Meister's barrack, but every moment he delayed was another moment the coordinates in his subspace outlived their usefulness. <em>Help him. <em>Was he injured? Trapped? There was no way of knowing, but if the destruction in Praxus was as bad as the rumors were saying, every moment Ratchet was stuck in base meant that his chances of helping anyone dwindled. If this didn't work, the mech was as good as dead.

Yet, a part of him knew that the mech in Praxus wasn't his reason for going. He wanted to believe he was doing nothing more than honoring a dying mech's wish, he wanted to believe he was only doing it simply to help someone in need, but he knew it wasn't the case. All shallow philanthropic ideas aside, he knew the real reason; he needed to see Praxus for himself. A part of his mind still believed Praxus to be the impenetrable safe house of Cybertronian culture and progress. There was no way the destruction could be that complete. Praxus couldn't be gone. His home for the past 10 vorns couldn't just have disappeared in a day.

No, the real reason he wanted to go to Praxus was to prove the dying mech wrong.

That's why now, despite the danger Meister had proven himself to be, Ratchet currently carried a syringe, hidden under the armor of his forearm. The plan was easy; catch Meister unawares, inject the quick acting sedative into him and drag his unconscious aft to the medbay himself. According to the scheduling, Meister was off for the foreseeable future—apparently whatever Autobot intel he'd provided had warranted a break. Either that or he was carrying on something special inside of the base that was off of the records. Ratchet didn't necessarily care either way, but the fact that he wasn't on a set rotation made it that much harder to find him. Heading to the mech's barrack and trying to catch him there seemed like the best bet at this point even though it might mean a late night of waiting for him.

As he walked into the foreign barracks, he was glad that he didn't have his medic stripes. Most of the medical staff bunked in the same area, but here, in a barrack full of regular enlisted, Ratchet would have stuck out like a loose screw. Fortunately, the shifts were changing and as the day mechs filed in to catch their recharge, the night mechs hurried to get to duty and no one noticed a lone mech that didn't belong there.

Ratchet carefully made his way through the narrow hall of the barrack, glancing at the numerous bunks before he finally found Meister. The mech appeared to be asleep, his visor dark as he lay on the top bunk in the corner. A datapad rested on his chassis and it appeared that the mech had fallen asleep reading. Perfect.

Pulling the syringe out from under his armor, Ratchet approached the berth. If he was careful, he could get the mech in the neck and duck before Meister shot him. Hopefully. That wasn't the most comforting thought, but the small part of his processor that screamed what a horrible idea this was was silenced as he took careful aim. He held his breath and brought the needle down fast.

Meister was awake instantly, rolling so the needle jabbed into the berth, millimeters away from where his neck had been a split second earlier. Ratchet didn't have time to react as the mech grabbed his wrist and twisted. Meister leapt from his bunk and used his momentum to slam Ratchet into the wall and something in Ratchet's wrist snapped with an audible crack. Ratchet howled in pain, disoriented for a moment before he registered a drop of blue sedative beading on the business end of his own needle—poised directly over his optic.

"Don't you know it's rude to barge into a mech's room?" Meister hissed, the playful lilt that usually rang in his voice completely absent.

"M-Meister—" He didn't have a chance to explain as Meister twisted his broken wrist further, making Ratchet's vents stall, his optics whitening in pain.

"And I had thought you'd stopped playing after Astrotrain tried to kill ya and all," Meister said. "I won't make that mistake again." The needle pressed right against Ratchet's optic, scraping the glass.

"Meister, please!" Ratchet choked out.

"Please what?" he said. "You came to me, Ratchet. Remember that." The needle pressed a little harder against the glass of his optic and Ratchet grit his dentals, afraid he was going to punch through and destroy the optical sensors underneath.

"Please," Ratchet said. "I-I didn't have another choice. I _need _those days and you're the only way I can get them."

Meister snorted. "Want're you gonna do with three days? Take a nice, relaxing vacation?" he asked, though he kept the needle right where it was.

"I need to go to Praxus," Ratchet said.

The light behind Meister's visor narrowed. "Praxus is gone," he said, voice hard. "They destroyed it and everyone in it ta send a message to the Autobots."

Ratchet swallowed. "I know," he whispered.

"Then why would you want to go back?" Meister sneered. "Gonna go searching through rubble for family—friends? They're all dead, Ratchet. They made sure of it."

"You're wrong," Ratchet said, his voice taking on a hard edge. Couldn't, wouldn't believe it. Not yet. "There's one left."

Meister continued to glare though the edge of the needle pulled away from his optic, just a little. "That's impossible. The Vosian seekers firebombed the entire city and sent ground sweeps to take care of the rest."

Ratchet swallowed and dared to shutter his optics for a moment, his vents working overtime. "One of the mechs who was forced there—a native Praxian—hid someone," he said. "I have the coordinates but if I can't get out of this Primus forsaken base, it doesn't do any good."

Meister let go of his wrist and Ratchet held the injured appendage to his chassis, hissing in pain. The Spec Ops mech was quiet for a long moment as he looked at Ratchet, as though trying to decide what to think. Finally, he said, "Give me the coordinates and I'll go find 'im—I'm not bound to base."

Ratchet was surprised at how angry the suggestion made him. "Slag you!" Ratchet snarled, optics blazing as he glared at the mech. "For all I know, you were right there gunning down innocents with the rest of them, you sick son of a glitch!"

Behind his visor, Meister's optics were tiny slits of light. "I'm resisting the urge ta break your wrist off right now, but instead, I'm gonna do ya a favor and make you a deal." He huffed a warm burst of air from his vents. "I'll come with you to the medbay and let ya tinker with whatever you want—but I'm coming with ya to Praxus."

His first, gut instinct was to refuse. And he almost did. Almost. But any and all thoughts of Meister stabbing him in the back became a second priority as he thought of the coordinates in his subspace. He _had _to know. There was no way he could go back now. He studied the visored mech's impassive face, trying to see any hint of deception, but found none. If anything, there was a hint of sadness on the mech's carefully schooled features.

"Deal. But answer me this," Ratchet said even as he dulled the sensors in his broken wrist until he had time to fix it. "What reason do you have to go to Praxus?"

The hint of emotion was gone and Meister's scowl returned. "None of your business," he snapped. "Now are we doing this or not?"

Ratchet snorted. It had been worth the try. "Fine. Let's go."

Spec was leaving his shift just as Ratchet walked up to the medbay doors, Meister in tow. The medic's red optics widened and Ratchet couldn't help but feel a little smug as he saw his mentor's jaw drop. Meister flashed his cheeky grin and followed Ratchet through the doors before he hopped willingly up onto Ratchet's work table, swinging his dangling feet like a sparkling.

Ratchet didn't bother to look around the medbay to see the rest of the staff's reaction. The sudden silence told him enough. He had to manually switch his dominance from his broken left hand to his right, and let the damaged appendage hang by his side while he hooked Meister up to a scan one-handed.

He heard quiet footsteps approaching and turned around to come face to face with the CMO of Kaon himself. Ratchet had never actually seen him before, at least not up close, and no one ever referred to him as anything other than CMO or sir. Overall, he was rather underwhelming. He was a short, ground alt with gleaming red armor and beady red optics that glared at the two of them in turn, though his gaze lingered on Meister a little longer, as though he were a bug he would very much like to squish. "What is this?" he asked in quiet, cultured tones.

"Just a routine checkup, sir," Ratchet said and turned his attention back to Meister's scan.

"Who are you again?" the mech asked before his optics travelled to Ratchet's collar. "Oh, that's right. You're the neutral." Just the way it rolled off the mech's glossa made it sound like an insult. Ratchet's optics narrowed just slightly, but he didn't respond. The CMO turned his attention to Meister with an expression that could only be described as pure, slag-you-in-the-face loathing. Meister didn't seem to notice as he whistled quietly, his pitch perfect.

"Well," the mech said quietly, though his crisp tones carried easily through the silent medbay. "Thank you for your… dedication to the maintenance updates. Your commitment has been duly noted."

Ratchet's head shot up as the mech retreated back towards his office, but it was Meister that spoke. "That's it?" he asked. "Rumor has it that you got three days of leave for any mech that brings me in for maintenance."

The CMO turned to face them, optic ridge raised. "Only a Decepticon medic can be eligible for that benefit," he said coolly. "And, unfortunately, _neutral, _you are neither."

The red mech turned to leave again and Ratchet's shoulders slumped. That was it then. His only chance was gone, just like that.

"Hey Knockout," Meister called, his voice carrying easily over the quiet medbay. "You realize that if ya don't give this kid the days ya promised, you'll have ta deal with me again, right?"

Knockout froze, his hand hovering over the keypad to his office before he turned and glared at Meister. The look of hatred was amplified ten-fold, even from across the room, but something in the mech seemed to crumble as he met Meister's visored optics. He checked his chronometer before saying, "If you're not back in this medbay by this time in three days, I will activate that collar and leave you a smoking shell, do you understand me?"

Ratchet swallowed. "Yessir," he said quickly.

Knockout was visibly seething, even as he pulled out his datapad and tapped in a few quick commands, changing the leave rotation. The notification of his down time popped up on his HUD. "Your collar has a tracker installed," Knockout said. "Don't let me catch you anywhere near Autobot territories. You won't like the consequences."

"Yessir," Ratchet said again. Knockout gave a curt nod before disappearing into his office stiffly, as though trying his damndest not to make it look like a retreat. Ratchet looked at Meister and offered a small smile. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Meister snorted and laid back against the work table, folding his hands behind his head. "That mech's an aft," he said and waved it off. "It does his cocky self good to be put in his place every so often."

The question was burning on Ratchet's processor. "What did you do to him?"

The Spec Ops mech got that dangerous look on his face even as he flashed his dentals in a grin. "That's our little secret," he said smugly. "And he'll do just about anything to keep it that way."

A quiet noise of derision escaped Ratchet's vocals and he shook his head. "You are a sadistic glitch," he muttered. The scanned beeped its completion and Ratchet's scorn morphed into a frown as he looked at the results. Everything was in perfect order, all updates had been completed perfectly and on time, according to his records. Normally, he would have stopped there, but something caught his optic as he looked over the update history.

The notarized bar-codes attached to each update usually served as nothing more than a safety precaution incase a mech's programming became corrupted or damaged and updates needed to be reinstalled. The last six digits were the update number, while the first three showed the city-state that the update came from. Some older models and city specific models needed upgrades from their original creation place due to system limitations, but over the years, upgrades had been made universal. The city of origin was still traced, in case there was a flaw with the initial coding, but it wasn't necessary for compatibility purposes anymore.

It was such an insignificant detail that if he hadn't been doing nothing but maintenance checks and updates for the past few deca-cycles, he wouldn't have noticed. As it was, after seeing the numbers day after day, he had many of the nine digit bar-codes memorized, and every one that came from coders in Kaon started with a 613. Meister's, however, started with a 126. If Ratchet hadn't been born there, he wouldn't have recognized it as Iacon's city code. He frowned. Why would a mech from Iacon, the Autobot capitol, have joined the Decepticons? Unless…

Ratchet quickly unplugged the scan, smoothing his features into neutrality. It was only a suspicion, nothing more and he was in no place to pry. "Your system is… spotless. You're up-to-date, no glitches, no viruses, nothing," he said and glared at the Spec Ops mech.

Meister grinned brightly. "Told ya I can take care of myself," he said and sat up, unhooking the medical uplink from his neck. "You only got three days m' mech. We need ta go."

Ratchet's unease started to creep back up his spinal struts even as he followed Meister out of the medbay. If the collar didn't kill him, how much of a chance did he have if Meister decided to? The mech had easily broken his wrist, and that was when he'd been half asleep. What sort of chance did he have if Meister turned on him in earnest?

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him around the corner as soon as he'd stepped out of the medbay doors and Ratchet suddenly found himself face to face with a very angry Spec. "What the pit do you think you're doing?" he asked in a hushed whisper and glanced over to see if Meister had followed them. Deeming it safe, he turned his red-opticked glare back onto Ratchet.

"I got my three days off," Ratchet said as innocently as he could.

Spec's glower grew darker. "You're up to something you little droid humper. Tell me," he snapped and gave Ratchet a little shake.

As Ratchet looked at the angry face of his mentor, he could detect a very real concern buried behind the frustrated creases. "I'm going to Praxus," Ratchet said bluntly.

Spec looked like he'd been punched, his anger replaced by slack-jawed horror. "The hell you are!" he managed to sputter and tried to steer Ratchet back into the medbay. Ratchet pulled his arm out of his mentor's grip, careful of his broken wrist.

"Yes, I am," he said, even as a hint of pleading crept into his voice. "Spec, I _need_ to do this."

Spec glared, his wings twitching in agitation on either side of him. "You're going with Meister," he said, not a question. "That's how you got him into the medbay. You bribed him."

Ratchet gave a lopsided grin. "I told you I'd get him in there," he said.

"Are you even _thinking?" _Spec hissed, in no mood to joke, apparently. "Mech's a fragging sociopath! What the pit makes you think he won't kill you as soon as you're out of Kaon?"

Ratchet swallowed nervously, but held Spec's optics. He thought of the bar codes and chewed the inside of his cheek. "Call it a hunch," he said.

Spec held him there for a long time and Ratchet could practically see the battle going on behind his optics. Finally, he let go of his arm and stepped back. "If you make me come out there to drag back your corpse, I'm using you for spare parts," he warned seriously.

Ratchet shuddered, knowing that he would too. "You won't have to," he promised, giving the older mech a lopsided grin that said he dearly hoped that wouldn't happen.

Anxiously, Spec looked over his shoulder before pulling Ratchet into a tight embrace. Ratchet swallowed and his optics widened as he felt cold metal press into his hand. His hands shook a little as he discreetly slid the gun into his own subspace. "It's on loan," Spec muttered and let go of him. "I like that pistol."

Ratchet smiled uncertainly. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Learn how to use that thing," Spec said before giving him a shove in Meister's direction. "Get out of here. You only have three days and it's a long drive, ground-pounder."

Ratchet stumbled a little and looked back at his mentor. "I'll be okay," he promised. He gave him one last nervous smile before hurrying to catch up with Meister, the weight of the gun a strange comfort in his subspace.


	10. Homecoming

Thanks for the wonderful comments and the well wishes! My dad's out of the hospital and on the mend, which is a good, good thing, but really bad pneumonia will still be a long recovery for him.

I love hearing your guys' theories and ideas on this. Meister's secret isn't too big seeing as it's on his tfwiki page, but I do have some curveballs I'm planning on tossing at ya! Warning on this chapter though. It probably should be mature because it is extremely dark. This chapter throws back to the original inspiration for this story, which was me visiting the atomic bomb museums in Hiroshima and Nagasaki a few summers ago so... be warned.

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><p>It was a surreal experience, leaving HQ. He had barely looked out a window during his time in Kaon and had never been allowed outside so stepping out into the cool evening air was like walking out of a cramped closet. He allowed himself a moment just to soak it in and savor the feeling of freedom, even if it was only temporary. The horizon was a mix of purple and blue as the smaller of Cybertron's suns creeped to the other side of the planet. It was a rare time when it was fully dark, thanks to Cybertron's two suns, and Ratchet relished the coolness of true night on his armor.<p>

"Think you'll be able to transform with that thing on?" Meister asked and motioned to Ratchet's collar.

Ratchet sighed and rubbed his neck. "Guess we'll find out," he muttered and activated his transformation sequence. His build had very little extra room when he transformed and his collar made something grind uncomfortably, but as long as it wasn't choking him, he could handle it. "Frag up my paintjob, but it's fine," he said.

He watched Meister dive into his transformation and couldn't help but scowl. Some modifications had to have been made for that amount of grace to be possible. Even as he looked at the mech's alt mode, he knew he was going to have a hell of a time keeping up. His model was built to withstand the elements, not shoot through them like a bullet. Besides, Ratchet was carrying his gun, and his rations on top of a large medkit in subspace and it weighed him down more than he had wanted.

"Let's go!" Meister called and shot into gear, peeling off down the street with a whoop of glee. Ratchet snorted but followed after him, barely repressing his own excitement. Ground models weren't nearly as finicky as aerial modes, but being cooped up for deca-cycles at a time without getting to run your engine was enough to drive anyone a little crazy. Ratchet's engine purred as he shot off after the other mech, pushing his speed a little as he felt the air rush over his seams.

They drove in silence, which Ratchet was just fine with. It was… eerily quiet as they headed out of Kaon, the bustle of the large city left behind as they neared the Rust Sea. It sprawled out under the highway like a living thing, swirling and crashing violently with the currents as the combined gravity of the two suns on the far side of the planet tugged their orbit a little off kilter. Ratchet followed behind Meister as they raced over the highway to the far bay of the sea, fighting off fatigue at the brutal pace the smaller mech set. They were making good time at least, but Ratchet found the complete absence of other mechs unnerving. What few mechs they did pass were always heading the opposite direction, racing away from whatever lay ahead.

They had just reached the far bay of the Rust Sea when Meister pulled over. Ratchet's vents were whirring loudly and he followed suit, wincing as his collar scraped. He looked down, seeing a nice scratch on his chassis. "Maybe if I transform enough this damn thing will fall off," he muttered.

Meister chuckled. "Yeah, and then you'll get a nice shock and a long recharge, if ya know what I mean," he said. "Best not try. There's a special tool ya need to get 'em off or else they fry ya."

Ratchet sat down on a ledge and took a good look at his broken wrist. Fortunately, the mech hadn't actually cracked anything, merely popped the joint out of its socket. He set about deadening the sensors even as he glanced up at the mech. "First time you met me, you'd never seen one before," Ratchet said. "How'd you find all this out?"

"I have my ways," Meister said with a shrug. "You wouldn't tell me anything so I did some research. Ya know how after ya notice something ya start seeing it everywhere? Ever since I saw your pretty piece of jewelry, I've been noticin' more mechs around wearing them. Can't believe I didn't notice 'em before, actually."

Ratchet's head jerked up. "Who else have you seen?" he asked, his thoughts straying to Wheeljack and Perceptor.

Meister brought out a cube of energon and took a deep drink. "I dunno, some native Praxians—they're a couple being used as cannon fodder for the front lines," he said and shook his head. "I think I saw a couple down in engineering as well."

Ratchet's spark leapt into his throat. "What did they look like?" he asked instantly and Meister raised an optic ridge.

"Got friends here?" he asked and Ratchet nodded.

Meister shrugged and sat down, leaning against a piece of out-jutted metal as he sipped at his cube. "I dunno, ground model, shorter mech. I think his name is Reflector or something?"

"Perceptor?" Ratchet prompted, his spark leaping into his throat.

"Yeah, that was it," Meister said. "Nervous little red mech. Poor glitch is working with Landslide down near engineering."

Ratchet swore. "Is he okay?" he asked anxiously.

Meister shrugged. "As okay as expected, I suppose," he said.

"As okay as… What the slag does that mean?" Ratchet asked with a frown.

"Landslide's a crazy glitch," Meister replied flatly. "Guess who designed that little bangle you're wearin' around your neck? I'm sure your friend's learned how ta deal with him or else he'd probably be dead by now."

Ratchet shuddered and rubbed his neck under the collar. "Primus," he murmured.

"Hey, he's made it this far. Landslide must like him," Meister said with a shrug. "Look, at HQ, either you're useful or you're dead. He must be useful and as long as he keeps it up, he'll be alright."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded as he thought of his young friend, looking unseeingly at his wrist. "I hope you're right," he muttered. "Did you see anyone else in Engineering with a collar? I have another friend—glowing head fins, he's pretty distinctive."

Meister finished off his cube and slipped the empty container back into subspace. "Who—Wheeljack?" he asked. "Yeah, he's in Engineering but… he ain't got no collar."

"What?" Ratchet asked, optics wide.

"Yeah, I met him a deca-cycle ago when I was down there—he's never had a collar since I've known him," Meister said.

Ratchet looked down at his wrist in shock, optics bright. Without thinking, he grabbed his hand solidly and quickly popped the joint back into place, optic twitching at the sensation. He saw Meister wince out of the corner of his optic and couldn't even bring himself to feel satisfied about it. He was incredibly relieved that both of his friends were alive and at least as safe as possible, but the thought of Wheeljack switching sides was a bleaker one than he wanted to admit. Had Wheeljack found some part of the Decepticon cause he agreed with? Or was it simply a move of self-preservation? Until he talked to his friend, he couldn't be sure.

"So, he did have one," Meister said as he looked at him curiously. Ratchet nodded and Meister shrugged. "Well, so what? He ain't a slave anymore. That's more'n you can say."

Ratchet glared as he flexed his fingers, twisting his wrist every which way to be sure it was properly back in place. "I'm not a slave," he said sharply.

Meister barked a laugh at that. "Oh really? You don't call being tagged n' monitored n' forced to work for absolutely no pay other than enough energon to keep ya running slavery? Well mech, you are far liberal minded than I," he said and chuckled as he leaned back comfortably.

Ratchet seethed quietly, but knew the mech was right. He'd be dead right now if he hadn't earned his days of leave, and no one would have cared. Except maybe Spec.

"Is he alright?" Ratchet asked after a moment.

"Wheeljack?" Meister shrugged. "I've only talked to him a couple o' times, but yeah, he seems fine. Busy. War is a good time for weapons engineers."

Ratchet snorted even as he switched his dominance back to his left hand and grabbed a cube of energon from his subspace. He cracked it open and took a sip. "How far away are we?" he asked even as he brought up his GPS, tracking their location.

"We got another three cycles drive, but we'll be there before sun-up. It's a long night tonight," he said with a grin. "Both suns in alignment. A bad omen."

"Never would have pegged you for a superstitious mech," Ratchet murmured distractedly as he sipped at his cube.

Meister raised an optic ridge. "Superstitious? No—I can see the flames from here," he said and looked towards the dim red glow in the distance.

Ratchet followed the mech's gaze and felt a rush of horror creep up his spinal struts. "Oh Primus," he whispered. The dome of red was visible, even from here. "That can't be Praxus—there's no way…"

Meister's visored optics looked at him before sighing and looking back at the distance. "Guess we'll find out soon enough. We should keep going," he said and slowly pulled himself to his feet, all grace and finesse gone, as though a heavy weight had just settled over his shoulders.

Ratchet looked at the mech, optics dim. "Why do you want to go to Praxus?" he asked. "Why come with me?"

Meister sighed and cracked his neck as he stretched. Ratchet could almost see the debate going on in the mech's processor. "I got… an old friend from Praxus—told him I'd check it out when I got the chance. See if anything was left," he said quietly.

"He's okay though?" he asked.

Meister nodded. "Yeah, he's far away from Praxus now," he murmured.

Ratchet nodded, no longer hungry. He closed up the half full cube and stored it back in his subspace for later before transforming. The collar scraped, but he barely felt it. Now that that red dome of light was in sight, he couldn't seem to look away from it as they continued to drive.

It was a long few cycles and his sense of dread grew with every passing mile. Soon, smoke was registering faintly in his olfactory sensors, growing more acrid the closer they got. Half a cycle later, he could detect a new smell, one he recognized from working on charred fluid lines—the sickly-sweet scent of burning energon. The light became brighter and brighter until the entire sky above them was lit up like a smelting pit, the heat following soon after, rising degree by degree.

Meister stopped and transformed at the base of a hill in the road. "We're on foot from here," he said and Ratchet immediately saw why. The road ahead of them was warped and splintered like some bizarre sculpture, the metal twisted up by heat and pressure. He transformed and stood, terrified beyond words of going over that hill and seeing what lay on the other side.

"Ratchet?"

He looked up and saw Meister waiting for him near the top, his frame lit from behind by the hellish sky. He looked down on the young medic, offering him a hand up over the rubble. From this angle, his optics glowed almost purple behind his visor. Ratchet took a shuddering breath, tasting ash and fire on the air before he took the other mech's hand and pulled himself up. Meister looked out and Ratchet followed his gaze, forcing himself to turn his head and see the destruction with his own optics.

Praxus was unrecognizable. Ratchet wanted to believe that they had made a mistake, that their GPS was wrong, that there was no possible way this was the city he had called home for ten vorns. Even though the ground sweeps had long since left and the firebombing had stopped days ago, the ruins of the city still burned and smoldered, turning the once proud skyscrapers into twisted skeletons, half melted from the intense heat. The saccharine sweet smell of burnt energon was so thick in the air that Ratchet nearly choked as he drew in one ragged breath after another, panting like he'd just run a mile. He tried to look down at the road below that stretched into the ruins, but it was too much to take in, too invasive, too utterly real that the split second of information was burned into his memory forever, no matter how quickly he looked away, choosing instead to look up at the sky that burned above them, mirroring the destruction below.

Ratchet thought he had become desensitized to violence. He thought that being surrounded by it would have lessened the blow. He was wrong.

The little energon he had drank came up without warning, forcing Ratchet to his knees as he retched, warnings blipping on his HUD. He wiped his mouth when it was over, his vents sputtering and heaving as they tried to regulate his system. His optics slowly travelled up, looking at the long stretch of road he had tried so hard to avoid. Lifeless shells of mechs and femmes and even sparkling littered the street like garbage left carelessly behind. Ratchet retched again, but there was nothing left in his tanks to come up and he just stayed kneeling, shaking too badly to move.

Praxus was gone. His worst fears had been confirmed.

Vaguely, he registered Meister speaking, but it took him a moment longer that it wasn't to him. His voice was laden with pain as he spoke quietly into his comm. "Prowler? I'm here," he said quietly. "It's… it's gone, man. It's all gone." The mech fell into silence soon after and Ratchet soon forgot that he was even there.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed on the top of that hill, facing the destruction below. A gentle hand eventually rested on his shoulder. "Ratchet, we need ta go," Meister said and Ratchet detected a tremor in his voice.

Ratchet stared numbly at the destruction but nodded, his hand reaching for his subspace and bringing out the coordinates. He entered them into his GPS, his hands shaking almost too badly to type. Slowly, he got to his feet, wiping the soot off of his knees and out of his optics. "This way," he said hoarsely, though it took all of his resolve to step off the hill and walk down the broken road and into the city.

Meister followed behind him like a wraith as they slowly picked their way through the streets, mindful of whoever they passed. Every step they made, they took care not to disturb the final resting place of the mechs who had fallen. Ratchet soon felt the familiar numbness of shock creeping over him and he welcomed it. His shaking subsided, leaving him floating in a haze as he passed through the massacre, seeing it without actually seeing it. Instead, he focused on the gentle blip of his GPS, letting it lead him along like a leash. The streets he had walked so many times before had become completely alien to him, and even when he thought he had found a familiar landmark, he couldn't be sure his processor wasn't playing tricks on him in its haze.

The larger of the two suns began to rise as they walked, casting the long shadows of the dead against the walls of the charred buildings and giving them the illusion of standing once more. Fatigue tugged at him, but he didn't dare stop and rest and risk not being able to start again. He pushed through, Meister close behind, until his GPS blipped at him.

It had led them to a residential area of Praxus, close to the youngling quarters and only a few blocks away from where the main campus of the University had stood. His apartment had been just a few buildings down, though all the remained of it was a pile of rubble, twisted cross-beams sticking out like frayed wires. The building his GPS pointed him to wasn't much better off. The top had burned completely, but the bottom foundation of the first couple floors remained relatively in-tact.

"In there," Ratchet said, pointing the entrance where the large front doors had been blown open. "He's somewhere in there."

Meister swore as he looked at the building. "This is gotta be quick—this thing ain't gonna last long," he said as he looked at the crumbling foundation.

Ratchet nodded and ducked through the doors and into the building without hesitation, not out of any sort of bravery, but out of a numbness that was incapable of feeling fear. The building had once been an apartment complex similar to the one Ratchet had lived in, but now the expansive polished floors were littered with rubble and death. Ratchet say a greyed hand sticking out from under a heavy cross-beam and the rational part of his mind hoped that it wasn't the mech they were looking for.

Meister sighed as he looked around before cupping his hand to his mouth. "Hello?" he called, his voice carrying surprisingly well. "Is anyone there?" Both of them went silent, listening for any sign of a response. Meister sighed and checked his chronometer. "I'm giving us four breems. If we haven't found anythin' we're leavin', alright?" he asked. Ratchet nodded, even as he started digging into the pile of rubble. "And be careful—don't knock anything loose that's holding something important up."

Ratchet just nodded again and kept digging, uncovering the dead femme's face. It was a native Praxian, door wings and all, but there wasn't a shred of life left in her. Even though he was crunched for time, it didn't feel right just to leave here there. He carefully grabbed her and pulled her from the rubble, laying her out on the ground and folding her hands over her chassis. On the other side of the room, he saw Meister doing the same to a young mech he pulled from the ruins. It seemed that no matter how much of a hurry they were in, both of them, Con and neutral alike, knew to the honor the dead.

It felt like days passed as they searched, carefully laying out body after body, but every time he checked his chronometer, it read true. The air was eerily silent around them and other than the scrape of dead metal against the smooth ground or rubble being tossed aside, you could hardly hear their vents working. Meister carefully laid out a sparkling next to his creator and sighed before his head perked up.

"Ya hear that?" he asked quietly.

Ratchet looked up, optics dim. "Hear what?"

Meister held up a finger even as he tilted his head, frowning. Ratchet quieted his system as much as he could, trying to hear to no avail. Meister frowned even as he slowly walked across the room, aiming at a small door that must have been storage to a cleaning drone. Ratchet joined him, still not hearing a thing, even as he drew closer. The little door was cracked, just slightly, and Ratchet jumped as whatever was inside quickly closed it as they got near.

"Slagging Primus," he swore and Meister spared a wry grin even as he grabbed the little handle on the door and tried to tug it open. Whatever was inside put up quiet a fight trying to keep him out, but Meister tugged hard and the door finally swung open.

Inside, huddled behind the cleaning drone was a tiny mech, barely out of his sparklinghood. He cowered against the back wall, curled up tightly with his hands held protectively over his helm. He had the door wings of a native Praxian, though one was dislocated, hanging painfully by a few wires. Ratchet couldn't see much of his coloring in the dark little closet, but he could make out a bright red chevron, sticking up from his helm.

Ratchet knelt down, optics wide. "It's a _sparkling_," he said quietly. _Help him. _It all made sense. The mech wasn't trapped, but it didn't make him any less helpless. Judging by his size, the little mech should still be connected to his creator's spark-energy and frankly, it was a miracle he had survived this long without it. Young sparks like his needed to feel another's energy to help their own stabilize.

At the sight of Ratchet, the little mech looked up, his dim blue optics widening. Ratchet winced—the glow in his optics was almost non-existant and he knew the poor thing must be near starvation by this point. "It's okay, we're not gonna hurt you," Ratchet said gently even as he reached into his subspace and pulled out the half full cube he'd been unable to finish. He opened it and set it in front of the door and the sparkling's intact door wing stuck straight out at the sight of it. Meister ducked down to get a better look and the sparkling immediately cowered back against far wall, churring in fear.

Ratchet looked at Meister and frowned. "He's scared of you," he said and pushed the mech away.

"Me? Why?" Meister asked, sounding almost affronted.

Ratchet snorted. "Chances are his entire family was just murdered by a mech with red optics. He's a little too young to make much more of a differentiation than that," he said. Meister scowled but obligingly backed off. Ratchet looked back at the little mech and scooted the cube a bit further into the closet. The sparkling looked warily at him before he darted forward and grabbed the cube. He tried to drag it back into the closet, but he was too weak to even lift it, his arms shaking with the effort and nearly tipping the cube in his haste. Ratchet quickly grabbed him, careful of his dislocated door wing and pulled him and the cube out of the closet.

The sparkling instantly started sobbing and fought against Ratchet, but his little hands and feet couldn't do much as he kicked and thrashed. Ratchet held onto him tightly. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay," he said soothingly, but he had to just wait for the sparkling to tire himself out before he stopped struggle. A loud crack sounded and Ratchet's head jerked back just in time to see another part of the ceiling collapse.

"And that's our cue," Meister said quickly and made for the door. "C'mon, we gotta go!" he called to Ratchet. The medic carefully picked up the sparkling and the half full cube of energon before following him as fast as he dared. That dangling door wing had to be excruciating and he didn't want to cause the little mech any more pain than he had already experienced.

They passed the mechs who they had pulled from the rubble and the little sparkling suddenly perked up. His optics brightened as he looked down at the line of bodies and he suddenly froze. A moment passed before a low keen rose from the sparkling's vocals, a sound so full of pain and sorrow that Ratchet stopped dead in his tracks. The sparkling began struggling anew, tiny hands grabbing and reaching towards one of the bodies and Ratchet shuddered as he realized he was aiming for the first femme he had pulled from the rubble.

He heard another loud crack from above and tightened his grip on the sparkling, holding him close against his chassis. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he lied quietly even as the sparkling continued to sob and wail, struggling to reach his creator. Ratchet carried him out of the building and found Meister waiting for them, even as he heard a loud crash from inside the building.

He wasn't even sure if he was talking to himself or the sparkling, but he just kept saying, "It's okay, it's okay. It's gonna be okay."


	11. Bluestreak

Holy cow, this was a whopper of a chapter to write. Sorry for the delay on this too! Life caught up to me for awhile, but I managed to escape it's grasp long enough to drag out this monstrosity. Also, I went back to the first couple of chapters and did a little nit-picky editing to try and make them... not suck as much. Don't know how well it worked, but at least it made me feel better.

Anywho, all of your comments really help with my motivation issues and I thank you for them! A special thanks to Plummy-kins and MoonWalker for following this from the beginning and continuing to comment! Also, welcome on to any new readers who have made it this far! Hope you guys enjoy this stupidly long chapter!

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><p>They camped as far away from Praxus as their exhausted systems could take them. The smoke from the city was thick enough that it blocked out the afternoon suns, but they made it just far enough away that Ratchet could pretend to forget. After a full night of driving and half a day of searching, neither he nor Meister were too eager to get on the road again just yet. Ratchet still had two days left. There was time to rest.<p>

Their camp consisted of an abandoned building on the outskirts of the ruined city. They could only guess whoever had stayed there fled when the attack started. Ratchet couldn't blame them. He sat down against one crumbling wall, holding the sparkling against his chassis and allowed himself a tired sigh that was far too mild to describe the hardships of the day. The little mech had cried himself out long ago and now laid silently against Ratchet's chassis, shivering with fear and hunger.

He pulled out the half empty cube and showed it to the sparkling, loosening his grip a little now that they were in relative safety. The tiny mech looked at the cube, his engine hiccuping quietly before he looked away again and curled up a little tighter.

"Hey, don't be like that," Ratchet murmured and opened up the cube for him. The little mech didn't seem to have any fight left in him. Maybe his will to live and left him too. "C'mon, just try a sip for me." He tried tilting the cube against the sparkling's lips, but the little mech just turned his head away, burying his face against Ratchet's shoulder.

Ratchet chewed on his bottom lip. Praxians had just become an endangered race—the thought of losing one so young was too painful for words. "Please?" he pleaded gently and coaxed the cube a little closer. "Just a little sip?" The sparkling kept his head firmly buried against Ratchet's boxy shoulder, not even acknowledging he was being spoken to.

Meister was sitting over by the open door, glancing out at the fires of Praxus in the distance. "Dip your finger in it and put it to his mouth," he said. "Once he gets that first taste, he'll drink."

Ratchet frowned at the mech but did as he was told. He cleaned his finger off on a rag before he dipped it into the pink liquid and gently lifted the sparkling up so he could get to his mouth. He pressed his finger against tightly closed lips and could hear the sparkling's tank groan with hunger before the little mech finally gave in and latched onto Ratchet's digit. The young medic gave a small surprised laugh as the sparkling grabbed his hand, holding him still until he got every drop of energon off. When his finger was finally released, Ratchet gently tipped the cube against the little mech's lips. Little hands grabbed the cube as though helping to steady it and, finally, the sparkling started drinking.

"Told ya," Meister said and sighed as he settled down a little further.

Ratchet looked at the mech in surprise. "How did you…?"

Meister just shrugged, a sad smile on his face. "I know sparklings," he said before asking, "You gonna fix that wing of his?"

Ratchet sighed and caught an errant drop of energon with his finger as it escaped from the corner of the sparkling's mouth. "His energon levels are too low—I can't even think about touching his wing until we get him out of the red zone," he said quietly as the sparkling held onto the edges of the cube, being sure Ratchet didn't pull it away.

Meister groaned as he pulled himself to his feet and closed the distance between them with a few smooth strides. The sparkling tensed, optics watching him warily, but he was too distracted by fresh energon to stop drinking. "I ain't gonna hurt ya," Meister said as he knelt down next to them, reaching out a finger to gently brush against the little mech's red chevron.

The sparkling watched him uncertainly, but didn't try to run. Ratchet smiled encouragingly at him even as he pulled out a cable from his wrist. The sparkling didn't even seem to notice when Ratchet gently plugged it into the back of his helm. "I can at least deaden those sensors so it doesn't hurt so much," he said and manually switched off the power to the heavily sensor laden wings.

The sparkling looked up in surprise, his optics glowing a bit brighter as the energon processed in his tiny system. "Feels like you're blind all the sudden, huh?" Ratchet asked. His lips twitched as the sparkling looked over his shoulder, as though checking to be sure his wings were still there. "Don't worry, I'll turn them back on once I fix it," he said, not sure how much the sparkling was even understanding. "Now, let's see if we can figure out a little more about you, okay?"

The sparkling settled after a moment, the smell of energon too tempting, and went back to his cube. Ratchet accessed a few files, finding his information un-encrypted. It was no surprise. Only paranoid mechs like Meister kept their basic info hidden, usually. "His designation's Bluestreak," he said, even as he looked at the black and grey frame with a frown. "I wonder if his coloring's going to come back. He's supposed to be blue and red."

Meister shrugged. "I've seen starved mechs stay grey before," he said. "He's been without energon for at least half a cycle—that's long enough to lose pigment for good."

Ratchet winced. "Poor Bluestreak. Your name doesn't make sense anymore, does it?" he teased gently. The sparkling looked shyly up at him over the rim of the near-empty cube and despite all he had seen that day, Ratchet smiled.

He delved a little further into the mech's info and whistled. "Primus, you _are_ still a sparkling, huh? Barely a vorn. It's a miracle he survived as long as he did… most sparklings can't be away from their creator's spark energy for more than a day or two at this age. After more than three or four without contact to any spark energy, their sparks usually just… go out."

Meister nodded and rubbed the Bluestreak's chevron again and smiled as the little mech leaned cautiously into the touch. "He's digging yours right now," Meister said. "My bet is he ain't gonna move off your chassis, no matter how hard you try and make 'im."

Ratchet looked down and snorted. It was probably true. The sparkling had laid himself right over where his spark chamber was and he could feel the gentle EM field of the little mech's spark reaching out for his own. "Probably right," he murmured and set the empty cube aside, letting Bluestreak do as he pleased. "I'm worried though… his records say he's old enough to talk, but he hasn't said a word yet."

Meister frowned at him. "Do _you_ want to talk about what you witnessed back there?" he asked seriously. A flash of smoke and fire and death rushed behind Ratchet's optics and he shuddered. Meister sighed. "Didn't think so."

Ratchet rubbed Bluestreak's helm. "Primus willing he won't remember any of this when he's older," he murmured.

The Spec Ops mech shook his head. "That ain't something you can just forget," he said quietly. "You don't forget your home being destroyed… or the mech who pulled ya from the ruins. My bet is that kid is gonna remember you for the rest of his life… along with everything else."

The thought hit him like a bullet. "Oh Primus… what am I going to do with him?" he asked, optics widening to disks. "I can't keep a _sparkling _in the medbay in fragging Kaon!"

Meister shrugged and stretched before scooting down against the wall, hands cupped behind his helm. "Your problem now, m' mech," he said and closed his optics, visor going dark. "I'll take second watch."

Ratchet looked at the Con helplessly as the weight of reality settled on his shoulders. Scenarios automatically started playing in his processor. The safest option would be to take him north, towards Polyhex, but Ratchet would be killed if he tried taking him near the Autobot territory. The other option was the truly neutral territories, but Ratchet only had about two days left of freedom and even at his top speed, it would take him nearly three days to just get there, not even counting how long it would take to get back to the southern pole.

The only other option, Ratchet liked even less than taking Bluestreak to HQ, was finding someone on the road back to Kaon willing to take him in. This far south, he would be hard pressed to find anyone who didn't wear a Decepticon sigil. Even if he did happen to run into a neutral who hadn't fled the oncoming war, on this side of the planet, he was as likely to be sold into slavery in the Deeps as taken in safely. Being right on the border of the southern territories, there was a reason Praxus had built such high walls.

He had no choice. Bluestreak would have to come back to Kaon with him. He rested his hope on the fact that maybe even a Con would think twice about killing a sparkling after looking him in the optics.

* * *

><p>A kick to the bottom of his pede startled him awake. Ratchet jerked, his arms automatically tightening around Bluestreak even as the sparkling gave a small cry of surprise. Meister quickly put a hand over the sparkling's mouth to muffle any further sound. "What the <em>hell<em>part of guard duty didn't you understand?" he asked, voice lowered to a hiss.

Ratchet blinked a few times. It was dark, save for a red glow on the horizon, though whether it was the dying light of Cybertron's smaller sun or the ever-burning glow of Praxus, he couldn't be sure. "What's going on?" he asked, taking the hint and keeping his voice lowered.

"Scavengers," Meister whispered as he peered carefully out of the door. "I'm surprised they didn't come sooner—probably worried about sweeps still in the city."

Ratchet swallowed and switched his optics to infrared for a moment before he cautiously peeked out of the gaping door. He could hear shuffling and the clang of metal against metal as though debris was being kicked out of the way. Through the mess of ruins, Ratchet saw at least seven figures dipping in and out of sight, their heat through the infrared registering them in a demonic glow. Two of them were getting too close for comfort to their hiding spot and Meister put a finger to his lips.

Ratchet nodded in understanding and kept a tight hold of Bluestreak. Thankfully, the sparkling stayed quiet, and Ratchet realized he knew how this hiding game went, even as his functioning doorwing fluttered against him in barely contained panic. Slowly, almost timidly, Ratchet's free hand strayed towards his subspace compartment, where Spec's gun lay unused.

Meister beat him to it, a blaster appearing in his hand like magic and Ratchet was all too glad to close his storage. Visored optics took quick inventory around their shelter before he tapped Ratchet's shoulder and pointed towards the back. Part of the wall had collapsed, leaving a hole just large enough that they could squeeze through it. Meister led the way, slinking silently as a turofox across the rubble inside the building and motioned for Ratchet to follow.

Holding Bluestreak close, Ratchet followed as quickly as he dared, but even the gentle huff of air from his vents felt loud enough to wake the dead. Meister easily ducked through the hole in the wall, keeping low to the ground before he reached through for Bluestreak. Ratchet carefully handed him over, hearing the sparkling's quiet whimper of protest.

He quickly ducked down, cursing his boxy frame as well as Meister's ability to make it look so slagging easy and looked at the hole. He resigned himself to it and laid on the ground, carefully gripping the ragged edges of metal and slowly pulling himself through across the bed of rubble. His head had just breached the other side when his square shoulder scraped against the jagged edge of the wall. The resulting screech stopped him dead in his tracks, making his armor plates clank as they reflexively locked together, as though trying to block out the noise. Halfway out of the building, he was able to look up at the mortified expression on Meister's face.

For a split second, it felt like maybe, just maybe they hadn't been heard until a voice cut through the quiet, "The slag was that?"

Meister's visor brightened for just a moment before he grabbed Ratchet's hand, yanking him the rest of the way through the hole and to his feet. He heard footsteps and muffled voices inside of the building even as Bluestreak was quickly shoved into his arms. "Run," Meister said, his voice taking on an authoritative tone Ratchet had never heard before.

"But—"

"Don't argue with me—GO!" he snapped and gave Ratchet a rough push in-between his shoulders to get him started.

Ratchet swore but obediently took off, quiet be damned. He held Bluestreak close, keeping a careful hold of his doorwing so he didn't cause any excess damage in his haste. He looked for some sort of cover, but the landscape was unusually unaltered for being so close to a city. His hurry, combined with the darkness of true night nearly sent him tumbling into one of the many hive-like vents that released heat from the smelters in the bowels of the planet. Ratchet gasped and backpedaled, his pedes scraping to a stop just on the edge of the dark hole.

Some believed that the molten core was the spark of Primus, the god planet—it was why so many mechs wished for their remains to be put into the smelters, as a return to Primus and the Well of Allsparks. Others viewed it as nothing more than the energy source from which energon was derived and gave thanks to it for that. Ratchet had never been a religious mech but as he glanced over his shoulder and saw dark shapes advancing around the building towards Meister, he called upon the only faith he knew and jumped.

The drop was sickening, and for one spark-freezing moment, he feared he would shoot straight down into the smelters, but his legs hit something hard, abruptly stopping his free-fall and he managed to twist so he didn't land on Bluestreak. A gust of hot air that bubbled up from the depths fogged his optics and effectively blinded him. Coolant condensed almost immediately on his armor but the heat was bearable, at least for now. Bluestreak was understandably upset and uttered distressed clicks and whirrs as he cried against Ratchet's chassis, vainly trying to wipe the mist from his optics with little fists.

Sucking in deep breaths of the hot air, he struggled to calm himself down, both for his own sake and the sake of the sparkling huddled against him. He kept reminding himself that they were safe, at least for now. Blindly feeling his way, he found an indent in the vent wall and wedged himself into it, curling himself protectively around Bluestreak and shielding him for the worst of the hot steam.

Give it a breem, and he would check. See if the coast was clear. For now, they were safe.

Through the hiss of steam, Ratchet strained his audios, listening for any sound of a firefight. Instead, he could swear he heard talking. He turned up the feed on his audios a little, but between Bluestreak's quiet crying and the steady rush of the vents, it was impossible to make any of it out.

* * *

><p>On the surface, Meister glared at the approaching mechs even as he stored his gun in subspace. He kept his voice lowered though every part of him wanted to shout at the olive green mech that stopped pace in front of him. "Ya couldn't give me some slagging warning? A comm. maybe? Have <em>someone<em> pass the fragging note along that you were going to be in the area?" he snapped. "I thought you were a merry ol' band of Empties come to drain me dry! The pit are ya doin' here?"

"You know, I might have if I _knew _you were skulking around the area," the green mech replied as he crossed his arms over his chassis, covering up the red Autobot symbol that adorned his armor proudly. "You're lucky I know you or else you'd be a dead mech right now, Jazz."

"And you better shut your slaggin' mouth," Jazz retorted, voice barely above a whisper as he glanced towards the vent Ratchet had ducked himself into. He grabbed the olive green mech by the collar and pulled him to the side of the building, motioning for his team to get out of sight, just to be safe. "Kup, ya never answered my question."

The green mech snorted and plucked the cy-gar from the corner of his mouth even as he followed Jazz's glance. "Prime ordered a small team to scout out Praxus, see if anything was left," he said.

"Other than the energon refineries that are crawling with Cons, there ain't nothin'," Jazz said with no little hint of bitterness.

"Survivors?"

Jazz shook his head. "Doubtful. The Con's were thorough when they torched the place. You can look for yourself but… it ain't pretty. We got one with us—a sparkling. I'm gonna take him with me after I escort my friend back to Kaon," he said.

Kup shoved the cy-gar back into the corner of his mouth and sucked hard on the end, his face a mask though his blue optics spoke ages of sorrow. "Who is he? Liability?" he asked after a moment.

Jazz shook his head. "Not unless he finds out that I'm not a Con," he said. "So far, my cover is still good in Kaon and I'd like it to stay that way. He's a good mech and I trust him, but when he goes back to Kaon without me, and he's gonna have to, it's gonna raise some questions. I'd rather he not be sent to interrogation—he wouldn't last."

"Why don't you bring him with us? Sounds like it'd be harder to send him back to Kaon than to bring him to Iacon," Kup said.

Jazz shook his head. "Wish it was that simple. He's a neutral that was press-ganged into the Cons. A Praxus University mech. They've got a few of them in Kaon HQ. Some have joined up, the rest have a kill switch on them if they stray too far outta line," Jazz said.

Kup swore. "And let me guess—you don't have the means to get that thing off without killing him?"

"You'd guess right."

"Fraggitall," Kup muttered rolled his cy-gar to the other corner of his mouth. "So, what's your plan then?"

Jazz bit the inside of his cheek, his optics glowing dimly under his visor. "Soundwave thinks I'm out on a scouting mission right now," he said after a long moment. "I need to get back to Iacon and report in. As soon as we get across the Rust Sea and I know my friend can make it back to Kaon on his own, I'm gonna part ways and bring the sparkling north. If some of your group care ta tail me, I wouldn't mind an escort. It's a long way home," he said with a lopsided grin.

Kup nodded and glanced back at the rest of his team who had stayed a decent distance away during their talk. He pointed at two mechs and motioned them forward. "This is Meister, one of our Spec. Ops mechs. Don't ask him about his job. Meister, this is Trailbreaker and Tracks," he said and the big black mech nodded while the smaller blue one looked haughtily at him, suspicious optics taking in his Decepticon sigil and red visor. "The two of them were picked up in Praxus by Con sweeps right before the fall —made a jump off the slagging roof of HQ in Kaon to get away. They know the area better than anyone. They'll get you home safe."

Jazz whistled as he looked the two over. "Off a roof huh? How'd you manage that?" he asked.

Tracks pointed to the sweeping wing-like appendages that flared up off of either shoulder. "Modified thrusters, sir. Managed to slow us down enough," he said.

Jazz couldn't help but grin at the honorific. "Well m'mechs, here's the plan. You two are gonna tail me and my friend until we get across the Rust Sea. Stay behind, stay out of sight. Once I break away, have a route in mind, cause we're heading back to Iacon." There were twin salutes and "yessirs" and Jazz's grin got a little wider.

He looked at Kup and his grin faded at the expression on the grizzled mech's face. He stood at attention and gave a sincere salute, even though technically, he was considered outside of rank to the Autobots. "Good luck with your search, sir," he said. "And I really do mean that."

Kup breathed a quiet sigh and nodded. "Go get your friend before him and that poor kid suffocate," he said. "I'll catch you at the debrief back at HQ."

* * *

><p>Ratchet was too afraid to peek up over the edge of the vent and give his location away. He hadn't heard any indication of a fight though the indistinct murmur of conversation had disappeared. Bluestreak's vents were gasping in tiny puffs and he knew the sparkling couldn't handle much more of this heat. He was almost grateful when Meister slammed a hand down on the wall of the metal vent, scaring both him and Bluestreak nearly out of their armor. The sparkling gave a terrified wail and Ratchet was spitting curses at the mech before he could even see him clearly through his fogged optics.<p>

The black and white mech offered a hand and half hauled them both out of the vent. Ratchet gasped as he sprawled out on the ground, dragging the cool night air into his overheated system. Bluestreak coughed to clear the steam out of his sputtering vents and wiped at his optics, blinking as the fog finally disappeared.

When Ratchet pegged the mech with his most withering glare, Meister finally explained. "They were friendly enough. I gave them what was left of my energon rations for good intentions sake and sent them on their way," he said. "Unfortunately, that also means we need to scurry back to Kaon. Three mouths to feed and the only fuel we got left is what you shoved in your subspace."

Ratchet coughed and slowly sat up, steadying himself as his head spun. "Fine. Whatever," he snapped irritably, the coolant loss making his head ache.

Meister watched him attempt to struggle to his feet before he pushed him back down far too easily. "Naw, take a second," he said and gently scooped Bluestreak off of his chassis to give him some air. Ratchet was too happy to oblige and closed his optics, letting his system regulate. He was close to dozing within minutes, but a gentle nudge roused him before Meister pulled him to his feet.

"I never thought I'd say this… but I'm ready to go back to Kaon," he said tiredly before he transformed and opened his back doors. He heard Meister's quiet chuckle even as the mech set Bluestreak inside. The sparkling whined quietly and huddled uncertainly in the corner of the small cargo space, hugging his knees tightly. The doors closed and Meister transformed before taking the lead once more for the final stretch back to Kaon.

* * *

><p>The road back seemed to take twice as long as going out. Maybe it was the lack of urgency, or the fact that none of them had had a proper recharge or meal since they left, but the road across the Rust Sea seemed to stretch on to impossible lengths. The murky brown liquid that sloshed under the road was even more turbulent now. Both suns gravity tugged on the planet's wobbling axis while their combined heat made puddles of floating chemicals ignite. Some feared that one day, the sea would become too contaminated and one of those little shoots of flames would ignite the whole thing into an inferno. Ratchet didn't care one way or the other, as long as he was off of the slagging bridge before it happened.<p>

Ahead of him, Meister pulled off to the side of the road and transformed. Ratchet followed him and opened his back doors. Bluestreak poked a cautious head out, optics wide as he looked around at the unfamiliar territory before Meister scooped the sparkling up. Ratchet transformed, but the matter-twisting sensation was too much and he stumbled, his head swimming before he fell to one knee. The suns were finally starting to set, but driving through the heat of the day hadn't helped his coolant levels and red warnings kept popping up on his HUD.

"Why did we stop?" Ratchet asked and gave up trying to stand. He kicked his legs out and couldn't stop a small smile as Bluestreak squirmed until Meister set him down before waddling over to him, throwing himself against his chassis.

"You were drifting a bit—looked like you could use a rest," Meister said, his optics cast out over the sea.

Ratchet followed his gaze, noticing two cars driving across the bridge in the distance. "I appreciate the thought, but it's just going to make starting that last stretch harder," Ratchet said and reached into his subspace. He pulled out his last cube and offered it to Bluestreak who eagerly took it and pulled the tab open. Ratchet helped him lift the cube up, though he was glad to see how much strength had returned to the little mech. His bright blue optics held that healthy glow and when Ratchet ran a discreet scan, he could see that his energy levels had evened out. Even his armor, what little had retained its pigment, looked brighter now that he had enough energy to begin the process of adding mass back to it. He still had about half a day left of his break and he would put it to good use fixing Bluestreak's doorwing.

A small sigh sounded behind him and he turned to see Meister rubbing the back of his helm, pede scuffing the ground like a youngling caught with his hand in the goodie bag. "Slag it, Ratchet. I like ya, so this ain't gonna be fun for me either," he said before he reached into subspace. In one smooth motion, he pulled out his blaster and aimed it directly at Ratchet's head. "I need you ta hand Bluestreak over to me."

Ratchet froze where he sat as he looked straight up the barrel of the blaster, optics wide. For a long moment, the order didn't even register, but when it did, Ratchet felt a hot flush of anger flood his system. "For what?" he growled, his optics darkened even as he tightened his grip on the little mech, curling protectively around him.

Meister sighed again, as though kidnapping was some sort of chore to him. "I'm going to take him somewhere safe—you and I both know he won't last in Kaon," he said.

Ratchet hesitated at that, the simple statement digging at his uncertainty. "Where?"

The black and white mech looked down at him, dentals grit in distress. "I can't tell you," he said helplessly. "Please, Ratch. Ya gotta trust me."

Ratchet studied the mechs face, weighing every instance that might allow him to grant that request. There weren't many. Not enough to trust Bluestreak's life on.

His optics narrowed and he felt his resolve harden like a rock inside of him. "No," he said, the gravity of his decision weighing in his voice. His hand strayed towards his subspace compartment, where Spec's gun still lay, unused. "I don't trust Cons and I especially don't trust you."

Meister looked at him sadly before the light behind his visor flickered towards the road. Ratchet's hand plunged into his subspace and wrapped around the pistol, even as his peripheral caught movement. The sight caught him by such surprise that he reflexively turned, optics leaving Meister's gun for a split-second. Every instinct screamed to face his enemy again, but he gaped, frozen, as the impossible mech unfurled from his ground mode. A familiar blue visor appeared and an uncertain smile followed as his chassis folded down, revealing the bright red Autobot symbol painted on it.

"Trailbreaker?"

Pain erupted on the back of Ratchet's helm and his vision blacked and flickered to static. He felt himself tilting to the side, but couldn't stop it as he crashed into the ground. His cheek scraped across gravel and his frame went limp. Through black and white fuzz, he saw the turbulent waves of the sea spit up a puff of flame while a terrified and helpless wail sounded next to his audio, echoing his own blunted emotions. He felt small hands grab his chevron and tug in desperation before his consciousness failed him and he plunged into darkness.


	12. Sick Leave

This chapter was originally gonna be a lot longer, but I decided to split it up. That being said, the next chapter won't take nearly as long to come out! Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Waking up felt like breaking the water's surface. He gasped, vents choking as his optics flew open only to be blinded by a bright light above him. A hand on his chassis sternly kept him down, but dazed and disoriented, he shoved it away, only to have it push down harder. His vision slowly began to clear and he blinked, trying to remember exactly why he felt so panicked. And then it hit him.<p>

"Bluestreak!" he gasped and forcefully threw the hand off of him, swinging his legs off of the medical berth before he even realized what he had been laying on.

That same hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back down onto the flat surface. "Don't make me sedate you, cause you know I will," a familiar voice growled.

"Spec?" Ratchet blinked again, his optics finally adjusting to the harsh light of the medbay. The Con slid into focus as he loomed over Ratchet.

"Who else would it be, dumb aft," the older mech snapped and even half conscious, Ratchet could tell he was not in a good mood. "Who _else_ would have answered your emergency beacon and flown all the slag the way to the Rust Sea to drag your sorry skidplates back here, even _after _I _warned _you what a psychopath Meister was?"

Ratchet slumped against the medical berth, his hand going to his aching head. "Emergency beacon?" he repeated, only hearing every other word the fuming mech said. He didn't remember activating his emergency beacon.

"Yes, an emergency beacon!" Spec snapped and Ratchet winced as his voice shot daggers straight into his aching processor. He closed his optics tightly, the bright light not helping his condition either. "The one you set off after Meister must have clocked you. Go ahead—tell me I'm right! I find you lying on the side of the slagging _road_, dented to hell and redlining on most of your fluid levels with _my gun_ in your damn hand! Tell me you at least managed to shoot the slagger?"

Ratchet rubbed his optics as he tried to think back. Muddled images of a gun, Bluestreak and the Rust Sea surfaced, but he couldn't quite string them together. "I don't think so," Ratchet murmured. The image of a red Autobot symbol floated into his processor and he frowned, feeling like he was forgetting something important. "He took Bluestreak."

Spec scowled even as he checked his readings. "Who the slag's Bluestreak?"

Ratchet swallowed. "A Praxian," he said. "He's a sparkling… and now Meister has him."

"Oh." Spec was quiet for a moment. "Is the kid family?" he wondered after a moment, his tone losing its harsh edge.

Ratchet shook his head and instantly regretted it. "I got his coordinates from a mech… didn't know what I was gonna find until I got there," he said. Already, guilt was starting to build in him like rust, processor automatically pointing out all the things he could have done to keep the young Praxian safe.

Spec stared at him with a sort of puzzled awe. "You went through all that trouble… getting those days off and _driving _all the way to Praxus… on some coordinates from a mech you didn't even know?" he asked.

Ratchet finally opened his optics to glare at the mech. "He said there was someone who needed help. Turns out he was right," he snapped with as much energy as he could muster. "Go ahead, call me glitched—I'd do it again if I had the chance."

Spec snorted. "I don't know whether to call you glitched or stupidly noble," he muttered. "Not many would do what you did." A scan blipped its completion and Spec checked the monitor, his scowl returning full force. "Frag it, I was waiting until you were conscious to be sure, but you're useless to me right now," he said through a sigh. "That blow to the head knocked more than just the common sense out of you. He dented hard enough to hit your visual processor and jostle the hell out of it. Autorepair will take care of it, but it's sparking like a hot wire. Enjoy the random blackouts."

A tremor of fear raced up his backstruts as Ratchet remembered past conversations about usefulness in Kaon. He swallowed, optics wide and alert. "What happens now?"

Before Spec could answer, a painful jolt shot through the back of Ratchet's helm. He yelped in surprise, even as the power to his optics cut off, plunging him into darkness. Gripping tight to the medical berth to anchor himself, he felt his system frantically trying to restore power to his darkened optics. Even so, it was a few long moments before his optical sensors flickered and powered back on.

His vision cleared and Spec was waving a hand in front of his nose. Ratchet jerked back in surprise and the older mech snorted. "That's going to happen. A lot. I got no use for a partially blind medic and neither does anyone else for that matter," he said even as he pulled out his datapad. "I'm putting you on the injured roster until you stop glitching."

Ratchet suddenly felt foolish. Of course they wouldn't kill a mech off just because of a minor injury. He ran a hand over his head, feeling the warped metal where Spec must have popped the dent out. "Thank you… for coming to get me," he said.

Spec smirked and raised an optic ridge. "Oh, you'll make it up to me when you're fixed," he said. "Do yourself a favor and stay in your berth. I'm not fixing you if you black out and fall down a flight of stairs."

* * *

><p>Ratchet tried to obey, he really did. He thought that his exhausted system would welcome the idea of near infinite recharge time, and for the first day, it did. But then, he started to get anxious. It always felt like he had something he needed to be doing—after the constant motion of the medbay and his little vacation to Praxus, he realized he had gotten used to running himself ragged, and now, with nothing but rest awaiting him, he was getting antsy.<p>

It was only when he couldn't stand another moment of sitting still that he started taking short trips out of his barrack. With one hand on the wall for stability, he would venture out into the expansive Kaon HQ, just for something to do. During his long walks, he began to realize just how little of the base he had actually seen.

He discovered a functioning armory, riddled with guards and Decepticon soldiers alike who cleaned and charged the various weapons. Near that, he found an entire level dedicated to a shooting range. With how useless he had been in defending Bluestreak, he was tempted to pick up a gun a try, but then the back of his head had sparked and his optics went out for nearly a breem and he decided to try it later, when he wasn't glitching.

It wasn't until the third day of his recovery that he stumbled upon a sign listed in one of the many lifts. Ratchet did a double take. The small plague read "Engineering." Without a second's hesitation, he pressed the button and the lift took him down farther than he had ever gone before. As soon as the doors open, he realized that the engineering deck was located below the surface, nestled in the metal caverns under the planet's crust.

It was oppressively loud and hot in the large, enclosed space, the product of numerous different construction projects and as Ratchet stepped out onto the loft that looked out over the chaos, his hopes of finding Wheeljack plummeted. It was a busy area, comparable to the medbay after a fight in terms of mech-power, but the automated machinery that was constantly welding and setting made it seem that much more chaotic.

Hesitantly, Ratchet walked down the rickety metal stairs into the mess of it. The temperature rose even further as he cautiously made his way across the floor, carefully stepping over thick cables and ducking hanging wires, and though it wasn't nearly as hot as the vent had been, coolant still beaded on his armor. Mechs were pouring of design schematics, yelling at each other over the din and pointing at parts of whatever monstrosity it was they were building. Ratchet couldn't tell what it was and couldn't bring himself to care as a painful spark shot across the back of his head and his optics shorted out.

Cursing into the racket, he blindly stumbled for something to hold onto that was hopefully out of the way, vowing to stick to the wall when his sight came back. The last thing he wanted was to step on something important and get himself fried. There were too many live, sparking wires down here for his comfort. His hands met something solid and slightly rounded and he leaned against it, praying he was far enough out of the way. He stayed pressed against the thing for a few long minutes, waiting for his optics to reboot as they flickered and struggled to regain power.

He heard a shout from somewhere above and suddenly, the metal under him started thrumming, heat building inside of it until it was hot enough to burn. Ratchet jerked his hand away and he heard another, more panicked sounding shout though he couldn't make out the words they were saying. His optics started to fuzzily regain their vision when something hard hit him from behind, tackling him to the ground. A hand on his head kept him pressed to the ground and he felt a weight of another mech settle over him. There was the distinctive whirr of a charging weapon and Ratchet braced himself before the explosion of it shot over them, so close he could feel the sizzle of heat and the shockwave of displaced air as the bolt passed over.

Ratchet blinked, his vision finally clearing. He didn't have much time to enjoy the sensation before he was roughly yanked to his feet by a very upset, soot covered mech. It took Ratchet a long moment to recognize the stern blue optics and the distinctive paint job hidden under the weeks of grime and ash.

"Wheeljack?"


	13. Telepath

Alternative title for this chapter is "Mindfuck." Enjoy! Tell me what you think! I swear, more Autobots are coming soon. It's getting close to say goodbye to Kaon.

* * *

><p>Ratchet's joy at seeing his old friend alive and safe was cut short at the stern look Wheeljack gave him over his blast mask. His optics travelled to the purple sigil on his friend's chassis and his tanks suddenly churned with unease. The engineer tugged his arm and Ratchet had no choice but to follow as he was lead through the engineering deck and to one of many natural tunnels that lead from the main cavern. The further they walked, the quieter it got, though the heat grew more intense with every step and for in moment, Ratchet contemplated tanking his arm free and running.<p>

Wheeljack peered back anxiously and looked over Ratchet's shoulder, as though checking to be sure no one was following, before he stopped dead in the cramped tunnel and threw his arms around his friend. "You are an _idiot_," Wheeljack said through a laugh but his voice was shaking. "Leaning up against a prototype ion blaster—what were you _thinking? _The heat from the barrel would have melted you to it!_"_

Ratchet returned the embrace and gave a short, surprised laugh. "You're not the first person who's called me an idiot in the last few days," he admitted. "Primus, you scared the slag out of me for a second, Jack."

Wheeljack tightened his embrace even further. "Sorry— the mechs down here have been rubbing off on me. They get torqued off if their tests get interrupted, especially if it means someone getting vaporized," Wheeljack said with snort. "Primus, it's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too," Ratchet said quietly and held onto the embrace for a moment longer before he held him at arm's length and looked his friend over, unable to wipe the grin from his face. Wheeljack still wore his blast mask up and he was covered from head to pede in soot—it reminded Ratchet of so many moments during their University days that it made his spark ache. The only thing different was the purple sigil that stood out against the white and green of his chassis. He swallowed and tapped the sigil with a finger. "You got time to talk?"

* * *

><p>Wheeljack led him to the lower mess hall— smaller than the one Ratchet refueled from and much less busy. "The engineers usually just grab a cube a go," Wheeljack explained and swiped his ID card to fill his cube. "I know there's another dispensary upstairs but I've never actually been to it. If I had known that was the one you used, I would have made the trip."<p>

"You probably wouldn't have seen me—they keep me chained to my workbench in the medbay as often as they can," Ratchet said. He filled up his own cube and followed his friend to one of the many empty tables. He sat down across from him and watched Wheeljack retract his mask, showing his fully-healed and badly scarred face. His mouth was twisted, permanently pulled down in something like a grimace while his olfactory sensor was almost nonexistent, just a truncated ridge above his lips. Wheeljack noticed him looking and ran a hand self-consciously over his mouth, as though trying to rub the scars off. Ratchet quickly looked away, focusing on his cube instead. An awkward moment of silence passed between them before Ratchet finally gathered to courage to ask. "So… when did you join the great Decepticon army?"

Wheeljack rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cube and looked down into the pink liquid rather than at his friend. "Ratch, I had to. They use neutrals as weapons testers," he murmured. "They don't want to risk injuring themselves if they backfire and they backfire a lot. Half the mechs they have in engineering don't know how to wire a light bulb, let alone a photon blaster." He took another sip of his cube, the permanent grimace on his face growing even more pronounced. "You wouldn't believe the injuries I've seen down here—I didn't make it this far to end up slagged beyond repair… I did what I had to, so I took the sigil."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded—he wasn't naïve enough to believe that every Decepticon was a kind as Spec had been to him. "They gave me a choice up in the medbay… Spec—that medic who saw us in, he's been looking out for me," he said quietly.

Wheeljack gave a rueful grin and looked down at his cube. "That must be nice," he said quietly and Ratchet realized that his friend didn't have a spark to rely on down here. Wheeljack sighed before saying, "There ain't any loyalty behind it, Ratch. I haven't forgotten what they did—what they're still doing… don't think I ever can."

Ratchet nodded and rubbed his helm tiredly. "Me neither," he said sadly. He tried to turn his thoughts to another question nagging at his processor, "Have you seen Perceptor?"

Wheeljack nodded though he didn't look at all happy about it. "Yeah, he works near engineering with that Landslide mech," he said. He ran a hand over one scared cheek, as though debating what to say. "He's… not good, Ratch. I don't know how to explain it, but every time I see him, he looks like he's breaking down more and more."

"Do you know what's going on?" Ratchet asked, split between relief and sorrow. Perceptor was just a kid—he shouldn't even be here. He technically wasn't even old enough to enlist in the Autobot forces.

Wheeljack shook his head. "He won't tell me… but from what I've seen of Landslide, I'd guess it has something to do with him. He's a scary fragger, that one."

Ratchet winced and ran a hand over his helm. "Primus… I'll try and find him before they make me go back to work. See if I can help him."

"Yeah, well… don't let Landslide catch you near him," Wheeljack murmured and rubbed his neck. "How'd you manage to escape down here?" he asked. "With how hot and heavy the fights have been coming, I'm surprised you mechs even have a chance to recharge."

Ratchet rubbed the back of his helm and gave a small laugh. "It's kind of a long story," he admitted.

Wheeljack's headfins flashed in amusement. "I got time. Primus knows I don't usually take breaks. I deserve one," he said and leaned back comfortably in his chair.

Ratchet grinned and took a sip of cube before he began to retell the story of his trip back to Praxus. He told him of Meister and Bluestreak, and as he described the destruction of Praxus, Wheeljack leaned across the table and put a hand on his shoulder. Even though he was an Iacon mech, Ratchet could tell he felt the loss of Praxus just as acutely as he had. He explained the journey back home and how things had turned sour so quickly.

"And so now I'm on the injured roster until my optics stop glitching," Ratchet murmured and sipped his cube.

Wheeljack whistled and shook his head. "Primus Ratch," he said. "Ya know, I met Meister. It seems like he kind of floated all over HQ. He seemed like a decent mech."

Ratchet snorted. "I thought so too when I first met him," he said. "Then he glued my slag to the ceiling, broke my wrist, made me grope two triplechangers and then knocked me out of commission." Wheeljack gave a surprised bark of a laugh even as Ratchet rubbed his helm anxiously. "Primus, I just hope that Bluestreak's okay… that kid got under my armor like you wouldn't believe."

Wheeljack patted his shoulder. "It takes a certain type of evil to be able to harm a sparkling," he murmured. "I don't know if Meister's capable of that. It seems like he had a lot of opportunities to just off you and be done with it, but he didn't. Maybe that sparkling has a chance with him."

The medic groaned and rubbed his helm. "I wish I could remember what he said to me. The details are still so slagging fuzzy," he murmured. The Autobot symbol flashed through his mind and he sighed in exasperation before he remembering the Iacon city codes attached to Meister's system updates. "I did do a maintenance check on him awhile ago…" he said quietly. "His system updates… even the recent ones carried the Iacon city code."

Wheeljack's optics widened slightly at that. "Seriously? But that means..."

"Either he's getting updates sent to him from someone in Iacon, or he's going there and getting them done," Ratchet finished for him. "I saw some old ones from a long time ago that were from a different city… Tarn or Polyhex, I'm not sure, but all the ones for the last two or three vorns were from Iacon."

"That's… weird," Wheeljack said frankly. I mean, he is Spec. Ops so maybe he's been doing some work there but… you'd think he'd come back to trusted territory for an update."

Ratchet's cube froze halfway on its journey to his mouth. "Holy slag," he muttered, optics wide. "Jack… Meister _never _got updates in Kaon HQ. That's why they gave me the days off—no one's ever been able to get him in for a maintenance check until I made the deal with him." Wheeljack's optics were wide as he looked at his friend. It seemed too taboo to even say it, too unbelievable and yet it clicked together too well to dismiss.

If Meister really was an Autobot… it meant that Bluestreak really was safe and it meant that they weren't invisible anymore—someone knew they were here. The thought of it, as farfetched and subjective as it was, gave him hope. Suddenly, it felt like they he had gotten his identity back. He was no longer the nameless neutral forgotten in the expansive roster of Kaon HQ, but a prisoner that maybe someone, Primus willing, had finally noticed.

Something brushed against his ankle, so light he almost didn't register it. He looked down and jerked away from the table in alarm as red optics stared back up at him. The beast mech they were attached to hissed at him before darting out from under the table in a rush of black and sprinting through the automatic doors.

"The pit was that?" Ratchet asked, optics wide as his pump struggled to regulate itself.

Wheeljack was staring at the door in horror. "Oh Primus… Oh Primus, Ratch," he muttered.

"What? What is it?" he asked. "What was that thing?" Wheeljack was already getting to his feet, his blast mask snapping into place, though the panic still showed in his optics. Ratchet followed his lead even as his helm took that moment to spark and his optics popped and fizzled to black again. "Rudderfagging pit!"

He heard the doors to the room hiss open and heavy footsteps clacked across the floor, followed by the quick pitter-patter of lighter, possibly quadrupedal feet. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm tightly, lifting him to his feet. "Dismissed," a flat, monotone voice said and it took Ratchet a moment to realize that the mystery mech wasn't talking to him.

"But—" Wheeljack started.

"Dismissed," the voice interrupted, the flat tone somehow becoming hard. Ratchet turned blindly towards where Wheeljack had been and gave a small shake of his head.

"Go," he mouthed silently and he could only hope Wheeljack obeyed as the iron bar of a hand on his arm tugged. He stumbled blindly before falling into step next to the mech. The mech was bigger than him by a long shot—Ratchet almost had to jog to keep up with the large steps. Finally, his vision started to return and he finally managed to get a glimpse.

The mech was a tall boxy frame type—the likes of which Ratchet wasn't familiar with. His face was covered by a silver mask and a red visor, obscuring any details that might be hidden underneath while his armor was a gleaming dark blue. On the smooth glass of his chest was a discreet Decepticon sigil. "Who are you?" Ratchet asked, trying not to sound panicked. "Where are you taking me?"

The mech was silent and simply tightened his grip as he pulled him into the lift before pressing an unmarked button. The lift shot up, the lights of the rapidly passing floors casting strange shadows across the faceless mech and Ratchet swallowed, trying not to show how nervous he really was. When the lift finally came to a stop, the blue mech wasted no time dragging Ratchet out of the elevator and into the expansive upper halls of HQ that had previously been used as judgment chambers for the Autobot Peacekeepers. The black beast mech that had been hiding under Ratchet's table slinked out of the shadows and stepped into stride at his master's side, red optics never leaving Ratchet, as though expecting him to bolt. The blue mech led him from the main hall into a grand, arching room with a high domed ceiling and large windows facing the city outside. It was oppressively quiet in the large chamber and their combined footsteps clacked too loudly across the polished floor.

Suddenly, Ratchet felt like he was on trial, but for what, he didn't know. He tugged at the mech's iron grip. "Please, I haven't done anything wrong," he pleaded. At the end of the hall, two mechs waited, one sitting atop the raised dais in the judges place, while the other paced in front. Both of them, Ratchet recognized from his nightmares. "Nononono please, I haven't done anything!"

The blue mech shoved him to his knees in front of the dais and Ratchet could only look helplessly up at the Slagmaker himself who sat above him like some sort of deity. Unbidden, he remembered the first time he saw the mech in person, right after the explosion in Praxus had destroyed his entire world. The tri-colored seeker that stood next to the throne glared distastefully at him, sweeping wings held high. He was the one who had murdered Ion in the shuttle and the null-rays attached to his forearms made Ratchet wonder if the same fate would befall him.

"So, this is the neutral that was running around with our missing intelligence mech?" Megatron asked, sounding almost bored.

"Affirmative. Designation: Ratchet," the monotone mech said. "Praxus University trained, recruited from Praxus before fall. Current function: medical assistant in main medbay."

Ratchet couldn't stop a shudder and looked at the ground with wide optics, his vents working overtime to keep his system cool. He felt a hand wrap around his chevron and tug, forcing him to look up at Megatron. The blue mech kept a tight hold of his chevron even as his free hand rested against Ratchet's helm. "Ready for questioning," the blue mech said and Ratchet felt the tingling of a scanner or something like it emanate from the fingers on his helm.

Megatron leaned forward in his chair, crimson optics meeting his unwaveringly. "So, Ratchet… why don't you tell us what happened on your little trip to the ruins of Praxus?" he said, voice smooth as oil.

The scan or whatever it was suddenly intensified and Ratchet's vocals choked in pain. He was no hero, at least not for Meister's sake and he wanted to speak, tell them everything but the blue mech behind him beat him to it. "Journey to Praxus result of a deal made with Meister," he said. "Objective: confirm destruction and retrieve a remaining sparkling from the ruins. Objectives achieved."

Megatron raised an optic ridge though the rest of his face remained neutral. "What happened then?" he prompted and Ratchet felt the painful tug in his processor again. He couldn't stop a small cry of pain, his optics whitening.

The blue mech behind him was silent for a moment, piecing together the events from Ratchet's point of view. "Accosted by scavengers. Meister split away to delegate," he said.

"And?"

"Began journey home. On approach to Kaon, memory files corrupted from head injury. Recollected information: Meister took sparkling with promise of delivering him to safety."

Megatron sighed. "That could mean anywhere, Soundwave. You haven't heard from him since he left?" he asked, sounding almost annoyed.

"Negative. Absent for the past week. Meister's whereabouts currently unknown. Comm. active but not acknowledging hailing attempts," the blue mech said.

The seeker snorted and finally spoke up. "Sounds like he purposely ignoring you, Soundwave."

"Meister's loyalty, trusted," Soundwave said. "Perhaps taking sparkling away from war zone. Neutral territories."

"Or Autobot territories," the flier added with a smirk. "I think your favorite bot's been playing you."

"Impossible," Soundwave retorted, a hint of emotion creeping into his voice. "Deception would be detected. Reminder: Soundwave telepathic."

"Quiet, both of you," Megatron ordered before Stasracream could retort. "I don't think I have to tell you what a danger Meister could be to our plans if he is playing the wrong side, but let's see if we can find out for certain." He met Ratchet's optics again. "Did you speak to Meister on the road? What else do you know about him?"

Ratchet was ready for it this time, but it didn't make the pain any less intense. In fact, it felt as if the mech was reaching even deeper, digging into the most private depths of his mind even as he struggled to keep his mind blank. As soon as Meister's name was mentioned though, he knew it was a losing battle. Automatically, his processor brought up the information and Soundwave read it like a datapad.

Soundwave let go of Ratchet's head suddenly and he fell forward with a groan, his optics fritzing out again. It looked like he was unconscious, but he wasn't nearly that fortunate and just laid against the cool floor, his head feeling like it had just been split open. "Ratchet preformed maintenance check on Meister before journey," he said. "Found city codes from Iacon on many previous updates." The quadropedal beast mech padded up to Ratchet and peered at him warily, though Ratchet didn't notice until he felt the warm ex-vent from the mech against his cheek.

"And what do you make of it?" Megatron asked, voice hard.

Soundwave was quiet for a long moment. "Meister a cautious mech, unlikely to get maintenance updates in non-trusted territory… findings suggest Iacon loyalties, possibly Autobot loyalties," he said at last.

Megatron growled low in his throat. "Damage control," he said. "I want every scrap of info he's given us checked and double checked. Whatever info he may have picked up, I want five rumors out there to counter it. Make them doubt whatever he may tell them."

"Understood Lord Megatron," Soundwave said. "Apologies… Meister's loyalties thought pure. Mistake will not be repeated."

Megatron glared at the telepath. "If he returns to Kaon, I want you to personally see to his interrogation," he said. "I don't care if you leave him comatose after you're through—I want to know what he knows."

"And what if it comes out that his loyalty is really with us?" Starscream said. "You'll have destroyed a useful mech."

"There are other useful mechs to take his place," Megatron said and Ratchet couldn't stop a shudder at the complete lack of compassion in the mech's voice. His optics slowly powered back and he looked up though he didn't dare push himself up from the floor. The black beast mech growled, showing sharp silver fangs mere inches from Ratchet's face. Megatron looked down at him, optics impassive as though he was looking at droid. "Why are you still here? Get back to work," he snapped.

Ratchet didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as his feet could carry him. He refused to slow down until he was in his barrack, pump beating so fast it hurt while he hid his face against his bunk like a scared sparkling, hands gripping the back of his helm until the throbbing pain finally subsided. It was only then he heard the quiet choking of his vents and felt the tears streaming down his face.


	14. Breaking Point

To the kind anon that left such a nice review—Oooh yeah, this chapter definitely gets bumped up to mature! It brings up an issue that hits home to a lot of people, so I'm gonna bump up the rating to be safe.

And at Doc Bot, I am SO GLAD someone finally brought that up! This is most certainly not the Ratchet we know and love. We are so, so many vorns away from that Ratchet and he still has a long, hard transformation ahead of him to get him to that place.

Thank you guys for the continued comments—they really do motivate me to write. I'm on quite a bit of a streak with this story though and hopefully the next chapter will be up soon! Thank you again for the support and comments! Also, as a personal side note—I researched the SHIT out of this chapter! BLAM!

* * *

><p>Ratchet's optics wouldn't stop glitching. After his run in with Soundwave the day before, his helm had been sparking and aching at a near constant level, confining him to his bunk and giving him very little chance to rest. The few times he did manage to cycle down without his head waking him, nightmares took their place, jerking him out of recharge. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning, when the first shift for the medbay would be taking over from the night shift, that Ratchet carefully crawled out of his bunk. Exhausted and finally admitting defeat, he blindly felt his way towards the medbay, relying on nothing but a hand against the wall and his memory. His optics relentlessly flickered on and off with each step but through the split second glimpses, he managed to find the automatic doors to the medbay and walk inside.<p>

He hung onto the door frame for support, not able to focus long enough to see much of anything. It was a few long minutes he stood there, looking rather lost before he saw Spec's disjointed approach through the strobe effect his optics were giving him. "You feel down a flight of stairs," the Con said, not a question.

Ratchet gave a short laugh and gratefully held onto his mentor as he led him to a berth. "No, definitely didn't," he said and laid down on his front, pillowing his head against his arms.

"Well, what the pit happened?" Spec asked even as he plugged into the port at the back of his neck.

Ratchet tensed at the touch, hands clenching into fists as he resisted the urge to dart. "I don't want to talk about it," he said quietly.

Spec stopped his ministrations for a moment and Ratchet could almost feel his optics boring into the back of his head. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable question, but it didn't come and he couldn't begin to describe how grateful he was for that. Spec was silent and only offered a comforting pat on the shoulder before getting back to work.

Ratchet relaxed and closed his optics, keeping them firmly buried against his arms. "I'm going to take your helm cover off for a second—get a good look underneath," Spec said and Ratchet just nodded. He felt the numerous clips that held the metal of his helm into place disengage and Spec lifted the helmet off, carefully setting it aside. "Ah, I see what your problem is. You got a loose connection. It's making an incomplete circuit every time ya move." He reached in with a pair of tweezers and carefully set the loose wire before soldering it with a quick burst of heat. The results were instantaneous—Ratchet's optics flickered on and stayed on and he sighed in relief as the ache dulled. "Looks like autorepair's taken care of the rest of it though. You'll be good to come back tomorrow."

Ratchet finally looked up at him, a small frown on his face. "Not today?"

Spec gave a sad smile and patted his shoulder. "You look like you could use one more day off."

* * *

><p>Though his head had stopped aching, the nightmares came out in full force as he laid in his bunk that night. Terrible images plagued his processor, as though waiting for him every time he closed his optics. Bluestreak lying dead in the burning buildings of Praxus, Meister holding a gun to his head and pulling the trigger, Wheeljack and Perceptor disappearing in an explosion of white and a red visor that seemed to bore into his head like a drill. He woke screaming more than once, much to the annoyance of the other mechs in his barrack. It was a hard fight and eventually, he gave up trying to sleep. It was almost a relief to escape his bunk and go back to the medbay in the morning, but Spec noticed the change in him.<p>

Concerned glances followed Ratchet wherever he went as lost himself in the menial tasks of the medbay that had gathered in his absence. He went about things ritually, mechanically, lacking his usual attitude and humor, and simply kept his mind blank. He didn't want to think about his situation, about Bluestreak and Meister or Wheeljack and Perpector or the Autobots that may or may not realize he was here. Thinking had only gotten him into trouble. It was easier just to accept and get back to work—the perfect drone.

And Spec was having none of it. "What the pit's wrong with you?" he asked at last, cornering Ratchet at one of the wash stations. Ratchet barely even heard him and just shrugged on instinct, not looking up from the pile of tools he was sanitizing. He felt a hand on his shoulder and grabbed a dirty razor from the pile even as Spec yanked him around. The surprise on his mentor's face mirrored his own as he realized he was holding the razor up protectively in front of him, like a weapon. Spec slowly reached out and grabbed the hilt of the tool before carefully pulling it out of Ratchet's unresisting hands.

"Please, just let me get back to work," Ratchet said quietly.

"No," Spec said flatly. "Something's fragged you up big time—you're never this productive." Ratchet didn't even smile at the joke and that sealed the deal for Spec. "Don't tell me I have to send you in for a psych eval as well?"

"I'm fine," Ratchet said.

"No, you're depressed," Spec said.

"I am not."

Spec glared at him before he sighed, his voice softening a little. "Kid, I can't even imagine what you're going through. Yeah, I've lost a mate—I've never lost my entire _city," _he said. "Yeah, you're depressed. You have every slagging right to be." Ratchet didn't know how to respond, so he looked down, crossing his arms over his chassis. "But that's not the whole story, is it? What's eating at you?"

Ratchet finally met his optics, his normal bright blue dim and subdued. "I don't want to think about it," he said.

The flier sighed before murmuring, "There're only a couple instances I can think of that can traumatize someone enough to retreat into themselves like you have, Ratchet and I hope to Primus I'm wrong."

Ratchet's optics widened a little and he shuddered as he realized what Spec must be thinking. His training kicked in and he managed to look at himself like an outsider— distancing himself from acquaintances, severe mood shifts, nightmares, aversion to physical contact—he was the textbook example of a rape victim. "Of course not!" he said, mortified at the thought.

Spec snorted though he relaxed a little bit when he finally got Ratchet to _react. _ "Can ya blame me for thinking it?" he asked. "What _happened_? You were screwed up after you came back from Praxus, but not like _this._"

Ratchet ran a hand over his helm and looked down again. "I'm afraid to talk about it," he whispered even as his optics darted around the medbay, searching for any signs of small black paws. "In case he's listening."

His mentor looked at him in surprise before he put a gentle hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the storage room. He had no choice but to followed him inside and the door slid shut behind them, blocking out the noise of the medbay. Ratchet shuddered as he looked at the dead optics of the mechs hanging from the walls, feeling like he had somehow stepped back into one of his nightmares. Fear gripped his chassis and for one moment, the deactivated frame of a native Praxian that hung next to him seemed to gain Bluestreak's coloring. Ratchet shuddered and had to look at the floor, hands gripping the back of his helm as his vents cycled hard.

He jumped when Spec cupped a hand under his chin and made him look up, optics expectant and waiting. Ratchet swallowed thickly before whispering, "A-a telepath—Soundwave, I think they called him, grabbed me the other day and interrogated me about Meister. They t-think he's passing along info to the Autobots—he asked me what I knew about him and, Primus— it felt like he was tearing my fragging head open. I-I couldn't stop it! Ever since I-I've been having these—these nightmares and I-I just can't _think _straight anymore!"

Spec put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a moment to calm down before he said calmly, "Ratchet, think about what you just said. Use that expensive University training and tell me what you're going through."

Ratchet rubbed his optics, a tired, stressed groan escaping his vocals. "Post-traumatic stress," he muttered at last.

"Exactly. My guess is it started developing after Praxus and only got worse with the Decepticon third-in-command rummaging around in there," Spec said and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You got to get your head on straight, Ratchet."

"You think I do know that?" Ratchet snapped angrily and jerked out of his grip. "You try getting mind raped and then tell me how slagging good you feel afterwards!"

Spec winced at that opened his mouth to speak, but a loud commotion in the medbay interrupted him. Even through the thick metal doors, they could still hear the shouts of urgency. Spec gave him a concerned look, but Ratchet could tell his sense of duty was tugging at him. "This conversation isn't over," he said and Ratchet didn't meet his optics.

He looked up as Spec left the room, catching a glimpse of the chaos outside. Mechs were crowded around one particular table, and through the throng, Ratchet caught a horrifyingly familiar glimpse of red and teal. Suddenly, he was pushing through the mass of mechs, shoving a slate grey triplechanger out of the way without a second thought as he shouted Perceptor's name. His training kicked on immediately and he didn't care if there was another medic already in charge of his friend, he took control.

Perceptor was on the verge of consciousness, optics flickering dimly, his frame twitching and convulsing as he seized. His mouth was frosted around his lips and from his throat down to his tanks, frost had crystallized thickly on his armor and steamed in the comparative warmth of the medbay. Moving quickly as he could, Ratchet hooked his friend up to a scan and asked, "Does anyone know what he drank?"

"Liquid helium," someone answered, but Ratchet didn't bother to look up to see who.

Ratchet paused for only a second at the information. No time to think about the implications yet. Instead, he honed in on the problem in front of him. Liquid helium had a temperature a few meager degrees above absolute zero. Cybertronian frames were designed to withstand extreme cold but that only applied to outside temperature. As soon as that cold managed to get inside to the energon and coolant lines, all bets were off. Splits in the lines were a guarantee, not to mention the frozen lines were blocking energon flow to his spark. The second, even more pressing problem was the pressure caused by the helium rapidly returning to its gaseous state as it evaporated. If Perceptor had consumed enough of the stuff, his tanks could have ruptured from the internal pressure.

"How much?" he asked.

The same voice answered. "Not sure—quite a lot though. He _was _hoping for death." The mech sounded careless, uninterested even.

Ratchet didn't have time to dwell. "I need anything that generates heat—lamps, compresses, whatever's available. We have to thaw out his system. If his tanks haven't ruptured already, we need to relieve the pressure," he said even as he started removing the armor plates that covered Perceptor's internals. When no one moved, he turned bright optics onto a couple of the medics around the table. "NOW!"

Instantly, a few of the medics jumped to obey and Ratchet turned his attention back to his patient. Perceptor's armor was cold enough to burn his fingers as he quickly unlatched the plates and tossed them to the side. He made it to the protoform underneath and plugged in to his system, using his medical overrides to unlock the frozen and steaming plates. He was more careful with the inner plates and attached them to the magnets above the berth for safekeeping. Inside, Ratchet was able to see that his energon processing tanks had ruptured, the bottom blown completely out, and his internals were a mess of frozen wires and frost.

"Get me some fresh energon and coolant tubing—none of dead material from the storage room. I want factory new and don't you dare try to tell me we don't have any!" he shouted and carefully started unhooking the main frozen wires from around Perceptor's flickering spark. He'd done inventory enough times to know exactly what supplies they had and he needed to get some energon flow back to his spark soon or else it would simply go out.

Time was of the essence and he was almost glad for the frozen tubing—it meant he didn't have to use valuable time sealing off energon lines. Instead, he cut the ruined tubing about an inch into the ice so they wouldn't leak. A mech brought over some fresh tubing and Ratchet quickly went about sealing the new lines into place. "Where are those heat lamps?" he snapped impatiently.

"They're still looking," Spec said and Ratchet realized he'd been the one to hand over the tubing.

"Give me your gun," Ratchet said and held out an expectant hand.

"What?"

"You heard me! Give me your gun!" he said, voice taking on an authoritative bark Spec had never heard before. Spec fumbled with his subspace before handing his laser pistol over. Ratchet immediately took it, pointed it at the ground and loosed off three quick shots, scorching a hole down to the next level. He took the heated barrel and gently pressed it against the frozen blockage in energon line. It took only a moment for the heat of the barrel to thaw the frozen line enough for the energon to flow again. Perceptor's spark pulsed a little brighter and Ratchet quickly went to work on the remaining lines. With every piece of tubing he replaced and reconnected, Perceptor's spark energy stabilized more and more until it was a steady wavelength on his scanner.

The heat lamps finally arrived and no time was wasted in hooking them up and angling them close over Perceptor's chassis. The energon lines that fed Perceptor's processor energy were still frozen and the longer they stayed the way, the higher the chances of damage. Thankfully, the frost began to disappear and Ratchet quickly went about sealing the remaining energon and coolant lines with quick bursts from his laser scalpel as they thawed and started to leak. It wasn't until the last line was sealed and Perceptor's readings evened out that he relaxed and turned off the heat lamps, wiping coolant from his own helm.

"He also needs a full fluid flush. There's no telling if any contaminants got into his lines when we were sealing it all up. Before that though… we need a replacement tank. Fortunately when it ruptured, the bottom was the part that burst out—it didn't do too much damage. If it had been on the front, it would have cracked his spark casing and he'd have died before you got him up here—the top would have taken out his all the main lines to his processor. Even if we had gotten him in time, he'd never function at full capacity again," Ratchet said tiredly and wiped the fluids from his hands. "We managed to thaw them out before it could do any irrevocable damage up there."

"Well, I'm certainly grateful _that_ didn't happen. I'll take him from here and replace his tanks in my lab," a voice said and Ratchet recognized it from his earlier questioning. He turned to look at the mech. It was the grey triple changer he'd pushed past earlier and he realized he'd been wrong. His paint wasn't grey, it was absent, a complete lack of color, like a walking corpse. The only thing that betrayed life was the hellish red glow of his optics and the purple Decepticon sigils painted onto his wings that folded down on either side of him.

"Like slag you will," Ratchet said, suddenly defensive. Moving Perceptor in his state would be a very, very bad idea. He had at least an orn of recovery time ahead of him, and that was being optimistic. The triplechanger's optics narrowed dangerously and Ratchet suddenly realized that the mech was a good couple of heads taller than him, but he stood his ground. "This mech just tried to kill himself with liquid helium. Nearly succeeded too! There is abso-fraggin-leutly no way I am allowing him out of this medbay. If anything, he needs to be on full psych watch to be sure he doesn't try a stunt like this again!"

The mech smirked, a cruel twist of his lips that made Ratchet want to shiver. "Oh, I assure you, neutral. I will personally see to it that he never does something so stupid again."

Spec stepped in, putting a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "Landslide, I have to agree with Ratchet. This mech's in no condition to be moved. As a senior medical officer, I have to insist that he stays here until we deem him fit to return to duty," he said.

From what Wheeljack had told him, he should have guessed that this mech was Landslide. Everything about him, from the cold glint in his optics to the smooth tenor of his voice made Ratchet uneasy. He didn't even know the full situation of what had happened to Perceptor, but he was certain of one thing; the Perceptor he knew would have never even considered such extreme lengths, but something about this mech had driven him past his breaking point. And he hated him for it.

Landslide looked between the two of them and sneered. "You're robbing me of an assistant," he said.

Spec must have felt the heat of anger radiating off of him because he spoke first, cutting off any retort Ratchet might have. "And I do apologize for that. But he won't be your assistant much longer if you don't allow us to tend to him."

The mech snorted before waving a careless hand. "Fine," he said at last. "I want him back as soon as possible."

"Of course, sir," Spec said and put a hand on Ratchet's shoulder to dissuade any parting comments. The triplechanger nodded before heading for the door, not even casting a glance at Perceptor as he left. The crowd around the table was slowly dwindling, going back to their respective tasks, though quite a few of them looked at Ratchet in shock. No doubt, every rumor of Ratchet being worthless as a medic had just been completely tossed out the window with gusto.

Even Spec looked at him with something like respect written on his face. "You did good, Ratchet," he said sincerely. "As soon as I saw the state he was in… I thought he was gone."

The adrenaline of the situation was finally starting to wear off and Ratchet rested his hands against the table, looking down at Perceptor's unconscious form. "He still needs a lot of work," he said quietly and brushed his fingers against his friend's helm, as though assuring himself he was actually there.

Spec patted his shoulder and said, "Let me worry about replacing his tanks. You've done enough today."

Ratchet shook his head. "No. I want to be here when he wakes up. I'll do it," he said.

Spec looked like he was about to argue but he finally relented. He gave the young medic one more pat on the shoulder before he clocked out of his shift. The last thing he saw before he left the medbay was Ratchet pulling up a chair to sit by his friend's side, one red hand sliding out to grab onto the teal hand of his friends' and holding on as if both of their lives depended on it.


	15. Perceptor

Please berate me. This took way longer than it should have and I have no other excuse except going to Botcon and getting my puppy, Meister. Berate the shit out of me so I don't take this long to update ever again! Also enjoy! I hope it's worth the wait!

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><p>The quiet of the medbay was almost suffocating. Ratchet didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until a quiet sigh woke him, sounding as loud as a whistle in the stillness. He lifted his head up from the medical berth and his back popped in retaliation, berating him for falling asleep in such an awkward position. It was late—the three mechs on night duty were talking quietly in the corner and none of them even realized Perceptor had woken up. Ratchet probably wouldn't have realized it either, except for the fact that he'd fallen asleep with his scanner still plugged into Perceptor's helm and he saw the conscious thrum of his system on his readout.<p>

The telescope lay with his optics closed even as one hand moved slowly towards his chassis, feeling the lack of his protective armor. Ratchet had spent the better part of the day replacing his tanks and though he had reattached the plates of his protoform, he was waiting to see if everything was functioning correctly before he reattached his thick outer plates.

"I know you're awake," Ratchet said quietly and squeezed his friend's hand.

Perceptor flinched minutely. "I don't want to be," he whispered and his optics finally slid open, glowing a deep blue.

"Perce—"

"No, Ratchet," he said. "Don't even bother. I don't want to hear about how my actions were wrong, or how mechs care about me or that everything will be okay, because it won't." Ratchet was stunned into silence at the complete absence of emotion in the mech's voice, but Perceptor wasn't finished. "We're going to die here anyway. I'd rather not prolong it."

Ratchet stared at his friend for a long moment, trying to see anything in him that reminded him of the innocent, young university student he had known. He found nothing. Replacing him was a shell of a mech who had lost every last shred of his old self. Ratchet felt like he was staring at a stranger. "Perce… what did they do to you?" he whispered.

Finally, Perceptor tore his gaze from the ceiling and turned blank optics onto Ratchet. "I'm going to be the end of us all," he said quietly. "Already, the timer is set, the coordinates locked on. It's going to detonate above Iacon in an orn. There's no way to stop it. It will kill every living thing there." It wasn't the ramblings of a mad mech. He was perfectly articulate, voice clear and low, and that's what scared Ratchet the most.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

Perceptor's optics locked and held onto his. "A bomb. He calls it the Final Solution," he said and held up his hand before curling it into a ball. "No bigger than my fist. Landslide and I designed it and Lieutenant Shockwave approved it. It's ingenious, really… that technology could be used for so many things—faster thrusters, more efficient engines, safer interstellar ships. But no, he wanted a weapon. It will ignite any fuel instantaneously… even the living fuel inside of the citizens of Iacon." He let his hand drop back to the table. "That mech has so many plans, so many new ways to kill people. The Final Solution, project Borderline, bio-warfare… and I've aided him with every single one."

Ratchet felt sick at the thought. There would be no surviving it. Burned from the inside out. He thought of Iacon, the white spires of the Senate buildings, the shining glass of the Towers, his creators and the home he had spent his early years in, nestled in the heart of the city. The destruction of Praxus seemed to superimpose itself over the image in his mind. He shuddered in horror and disbelief. "Perce, there's no way…"

"You don't believe that. I know you don't. Not after what they did to Praxus," Perceptor said and Ratchet knew he couldn't argue. There was a way—he'd seen the aftermath all too vividly. And now his friend had apparently perfected the method. There would be no survivors like Bluestreak. Ratchet was silent for a long while, unable to find anything worth saying.

The little mech shifted, turning onto his side and wrapping his arms across his chassis, covering up his bared spark-casing almost self-consciously. "I…" he started, but closed his mouth shut tight. Ratchet put a gentle hand on his shoulder, but the young mech didn't speak again. Instead, text scrolled behind Ratchet's optics, sent through the cable still plugged into Perceptor's helm. 'Landslide thinks he's infallible… After we finished it, I snuck down and reprogrammed the coordinates. One number can make all the difference. If he doesn't catch it, it will detonate somewhere safe.'

Ratchet swallowed and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. It was a big "if." 'Iacon has the defense network—if the bomb is dropped, they should be able to shield the city,' he replied, using text instead of speaking such delicate material out loud.

Perceptor's shoulders shifted in a small shrug. 'Who knows? It's never been subjected to this sort of technology before. There's a possibility that the bomb might just… pass through it.'

Ratchet watched the mech tremble and gently stroked his helm, trying to offer any sort of comfort he could. They lapsed into silence and Ratchet let out a long, shuddering breath and rubbed his optics. On the table, Perceptor curled up tightly, gripping the back of his helm and pressing his forehead against his knees. The young mech couldn't continue like this. Ratchet was no psychologist, but there wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind that Perceptor would try again until he found a permanent end to his guilt.

He thought back to the nameless Praxian, the one who had asked to die rather than be kept here, and for one brief instant, Ratchet considered ending it all for him. As soon as the thought occurred, he banished it, a sickening shame coursing through him. That was not his choice to make and he didn't think he could go through with it anyway. He ran a hand gentle over Percerptor's helm, trying to keep the other mech calm as his own head spun with a terrible and possibly lifesaving idea.

"Just try and get some rest, Percy," he said quietly even as he used the cable connecting them to start shutting down his system, putting Perceptor into stasis.

The young mech jerked on the berth, as though trying to fight off the impending sleep, but was soon overcome by the benign program. The red and teal mech dropped into a deep stasis, limp against the berth and Ratchet quickly looked over at the medics on duty to see if they had noticed anything. They were still talking quietly and none of them paid Ratchet any attention as he gently straightened out Perceptor on top of the berth.

It was a question of ethics. His University training was screaming at him, automatically bringing up the issues of ethical procedures and patient consent from his own memory cache, red lights popping up everywhere about the potential legal ramifications that could come from such a rash act. Even so, the concern for his friend and the ingrained _need _to help him was starting to drown it out. Besides, he thought, what sort of ethics existed in the hellhole that was Kaon? He'd killed good mechs and kept bad ones alive; he'd learned to break rules, to lie, to be sneaky and underhanded, and most importantly, to do whatever it took to get the job done.

And right now, the job was keeping Perceptor alive.

Working as quickly and discreetly as he could, he used the hardline connection to delve into the mech's processor. It wasn't his area of expertise, but he knew his way around well enough to find Perceptor's memory matrix. Using his medical overrides, he broke into the normally forbidden place, where all of Perceptor's memories were laid bare for him to see.

The input was overwhelming, assaulting him with memories, emotions, thoughts that weren't his. It would have been easy to lose himself in the onslaught, staring blankly into space until one of the other medics noticed and finally disconnected them, but his anger and worry fueled him. It took all of his concentration, but he managed to ground himself, filtering the data into an organized stream. He only needed one section, a short period in the grand scheme of Perceptor's life—but the section that had caused the most damage.

There. The club in Praxus on that final night before their world had ended. Every memory after that—every glimpse of Landslide, of the sleepless nights, of everything that had made Kaon HQ his personal hell, Ratchet targeted.

"One number makes all the difference," Ratchet murmured as he deleted the third digit of every saved memory file of Perceptor's time in Kaon, rendering the files unreadable. He caught flashes of the memories as he cycled through them; the kickback of a weapon as he tested it on a live subject, the fear in a captive Praxian's optic as he had injected different flammables into his lines, Landslide's weight against his back as he forced Perceptor up against a wall.

The process didn't take too long, but Ratchet was drained by the time he was finished. He disconnected the transfer cable and slumped into the chair next to the berth, his head aching as though Soundwave had cracked him open again. He felt dirty—invading someone's privacy like that, but after seeing what he had seen, he knew he had done the right thing. The knowledge, at least in part, had passed along to him, and he was willing to bare it if it meant Perceptor would be okay.

A quiet groan made him look up and Perceptor blinked up at the ceiling, mouth twisting in confusion. He put a hand to his head and groaned again before glancing around, optics finally focusing on the figure sitting next to his berth. "Ratchet?" he asked groggily. "What's going on? Where are we?"

The innocent questions made Ratchet relax even as a sickening wave of guilt washed through him. He scooted his chair closer and took the young mech's hand. "We're in Kaon, Perce— you had an accident," he said quietly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Perceptor frowned and slumped back against the berth. "I remember the club a-and and explosion… but everything after is just blank," he said and looked up at Ratchet, fear in his optics.

Ratchet ran a gentle hand over his helm. "It's okay," he whispered. "You had a nasty accident but you're going to be okay now."

Perceptor's optics searched his face, as though looking for something that would make everything make sense. "What accident—why are we in Kaon?" he asked. He must have checked his chronometer because a moment later, he gasped. "Ratchet! How long have we been here?"

Ratchet clapped a hand over his mouth as the medics on duty looked over. "Perce, just listen to me," he said quietly. "We've been in Kaon for a few orns," he said quietly. "You were working with a mech named Landslide on a project and you got injured—you lost circulation to your processor for a few minutes. We're lucky that you only lost a few memories."

Perceptor swallowed and slowly relaxed before Ratchet removed his hand. "What accident?" he asked again.

Ratchet paused for a long moment, trying to decide just how much to tell him. "I don't know all the details—something to do with liquid hydrogen. It had gotten under your armor and froze some important lines—your circulation was cut off just a little too long," he said.

The young scientist winced at that. "Primus," he whispered, a stray shiver running through his system.

"I got you fixed up. You'll be good as new in an orn," he promised, trying to keep his voice as light and calming as possible. "Unfortunately, I don't have the means to get those memories back… I'm sorry Perce, but they may be gone for good."

The mech rubbed his optics, a small groan escaping him. "Primus," he said and Ratchet could tell he was trying to puzzle out what sort of situation caused him to be in such a sorry state.

"It's only a couple of orns—can't be that important, right?" Ratchet said and squeezed the mech's shoulder, but the attempt at lightening the situation sounded weak and forced, even to him. He just hoped that Perceptor was still too disoriented to notice. As it was, the mech seemed to be lost in thought, face scrunched up in concentration in a way that was so innocent and sparkwarmingly familiar that it made Ratchet's engine sputter. Before he'd even given himself permission, he had his arms wrapped his arms around the other mech, holding him in a tight embrace.

Perceptor squeaked in surprise, stiffing reflexively at first before he slowly relaxed and returned the embrace. "I was worried about you," Ratchet said quietly. "I… didn't know if you were going to make it."

He felt Perceptor swallow and the young mech tightened his embrace. "You fixed me up—of course I'm fine," he said.

Ratchet smiled at that and held the mech at arm's length. "You're off the duty roster until the senior medics say you're fit to return to work," he said and Perceptor looked up at him in surprise. "I'm not letting you work on anything until I'm sure all of your repairs have set." Replacing an entire energon processing tank was no small repair, but more importantly, he wanted to keep him away from Landslide as long as possible.

Perceptor sighed the sigh of a mech who doesn't like to be inactive, but Ratchet knew it was for the best. "Fine. It will give you a chance to fill me in on what I'm missing," he says.

Ratchet looked at the mech, his friend returned to his old self. He gave a short laugh. "It's been a long few orns."


	16. Stripes

This is a chapter that's been sitting in my head for awhile and thank you guys for motivating me to get this far! Thanks again for reading! It's only gonna get crazier from here!

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><p>Landslide had not been happy. An understatement, actually. Landslide had been furious. As soon as Ratchet and Spec had broken the news to the grey mech, Ratchet had suddenly found himself pinned against a medical berth, hands wrapped around his neck in the second attempt by a triplechanger to choke the lights out of him. He should have been used to the treatment, or at least have expected it, but Landslide was deceptively fast for such a big mech, and had a rather in-depth knowledge of pressure points on his frame which he had targeted them with near perfect accuracy.<p>

Rathcet had blacked out almost instantly from the well-placed choke and had woken up a couple of hours later back on the injured roster with a crushed vocalizer and quite a few crimped and damaged lines in his neck. Spec had said he was well on his way to replacing Commander Starscream for the "slagged most often" award, but Ratchet couldn't bring himself to care too much—it gave him and Perceptor a chance to talk. Though the crushed vocals Landslide had given him made it difficult to answer the numerous questions the young scientist had, Ratchet tried his best.

Before his vocals could be repaired, Perceptor had asked his questions out loud and Ratchet used a hardline connection to give his replies. He was glad for the half privacy. Between the slow diagnostic scans he ran on Ratchet to the careful deadening of his sensors, he could tell that Spec was listening to them. Ratchet had given him the same lie as he had given everyone else, saying that the loss of energon had caused the corrupted memories. Something about the hard look Spec had pinned him with made him feel like he was talking to one of his old professors, and it was… distinctly unpleasant lying to him. Especially because he knew the Con was able to see through his web of lies, at least partially, even if he couldn't figure the whole story out by himself.

And Ratchet's deceptions just seemed to ad up with every question Perceptor asked. Between half truths and whole lies, he was having trouble remembering exactly what answers he had given, and Perceptor was far too bright to overlook such slips.

"Wait, I thought you had said you didn't know what we were working on? Now you're saying that it was… some sort of weapon?" Perceptor asked. The young scientist had finally gathered the strength to get off of his med berth and he currently sat next to Ratchet's table as Spec calibrated his vocals.

"Slag it—I don't know Perce," Ratchet said, his voice nearly two octaves higher than it normally was. Spec couldn't stop a laugh at the squeaky, high-pitched voice that had erupted from the mech and Ratchet turned a glare at him even as he continued. "When I saw Wheeljack, he mentioned you and Landslide were working on some sort of project," he said, his voice slowly lowering to its normal register as Spec toggled the settings. "I guess I assumed it was a weapon because I heard Landslide works on slag like that."

Perceptor looked pensive, optics glossed over as he thought. "Maybe I should… speak to him about it?"

"NO!" Ratchet said, his voice booming so loud it crackled with static and Perceptor jumped back.

"Slag, sorry," came Spec's muttered voice as he adjusted that setting as well. He flicked Ratchet's chevron. "What the slag did I tell you about yelling? You'll blow all the hard work I've done, you glitch."

Ratchet glared at him again, but Spec just flicked his chevron again and leaned a little closer to his throat before he returned to his adjustments, optics zooming in for a better look as he adjusted the delicate settings. Ratchet turned back to Perceptor and sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Percy," he said. "I mean—you saw what he did to me. He's not a nice mech. I think it's better that you avoid him as much as you can."

The young mech slumped tiredly back in his chair and rubbed his face, a quiet groan escaping him. "This is just… so much to take in. I mean, according to you and Spec, the last time you saw me was the first _night_ we were here! There's just so much I'm missing… it's incredibly frustrating." He slowly pushed himself to his feet and under two sets of wary optics, he paced in front of the berth, steps very slow and careful so he didn't aggravate his recent repairs. "What if I lost something important? There's so much information I could have learned that's just… gone now.

"From what I read of HQ records… Landslide is a genius. His public profile says he's done work with different methods of base programming, integrated weapons systems, even synthetic energon!" he said. "As… unstable as he may seem, I feel like I'm missing out on a cache of knowledge." Ratchet just barely managed to keep his mouth shut, letting Perceptor fantasize. "Spec, you're a Kaon built mech—I'd say you were a designated aerial warrior class by your build? You know what energon rationing for your caste was like. If we could find a stable synthetic energon, there would be no need for harsh rationing like that! This war could be over!"

Spec snorts and his optics narrowed as his fingers paused over their delicate tinkering. "Youngling, rationing wasn't the half of why this war started," he said. "Sure, you can listen to the Autobot Senate blather on about how energon rationing from caste to caste helps to properly oil the great machine of Cybertronian society and all that slag, but you don't realize what _real _damage that caste system has done." He shook his head, an almost annoyed expression on his face. "You little glitches are too young to remember, but the caste system used to be more… fluid. If you were a mech like me, yeah, an aerial warrior by build—if you were determined and you were smart, you could work out of your caste. You could become something more than what your build designated you to."

Ratchet knew he had heard this story, at least in part, but Perceptor looked fascinated. "But… why would you want to?" he asked. "I always knew I was going to be a researcher… I didn't know what _type_, but my programming led me towards that route."

Spec snorted. "It's simple. I didn't _want _to fight. You upper caste mechs don't realize that even if we're programmed towards a certain field, we don't want them! You really think a mech _wants _to be blown up or crushed in a mine? Sure, we have the aptitude for it, but it doesn't make us like the job any more."

"I never thought of it that way," Perceptor said, optics bright with interest as he looked at the older mech.

"Of course you haven't," Spec snapped. "You're an upper-caste mech. Your job doesn't threaten to kill you every time you get to it. You have your interests and your position in society allows you to explore them as part of your functioning! Are ya starting to see how lower caste mechs get shafted? Now it wouldn't be as much of a problem if mechs of a lower caste shows an aptitude above their level and is allowed to move up in the world, but that ain't the case! I never trained up with the military forces in Kaon, _despite_ the fact that my entire slagging life, that was all I was ever told I could do. I wanted to help people for as long as I could remember and there was no denying I had the processor for it—I was patching injuries since before I was _your _age," he said and poked Perceptor in the chassis. "And for awhile it seemed like I could—I joined the Peacekeepers in Kaon. I was on the fast track to becoming an emergency medical technician. I was going to _help _people."

Perceptor frowned. "But… surely they saw that?" he asked. "I mean, the mechs in Kaon HQ who were assessing you. Surely they saw that you had the ability."

"That's the slag of it," Spec said. "You think they would have, but no—they didn't look at my outstanding test scores or my exemplary aptitude for it, they looked at my build and my optics and said that I would be better suited elsewhere. I learned _everything _I do in here from taking people apart in an interrogation room," he said and gave a short, bitter laugh. "Do you realize how _unfair _that is? I worked my aft off for _vorns_ studying and preparing and when I finally found my chance, a mech of a higher caste shrugged me away and said that I would be better suited hurting people all because I was a poor, red opticked warrior caste mech who didn't seem to know his place. Classism at its absolute worst," he spat. "And even though I self-taught myself _everything_, I'm still one of the best slagging medics in this joint. Just _imagine_ what I could have been if someone had given me the chance to study at an actual University like you two did?"

Rathcet couldn't help but notice how Spec's optics lingered on him for a moment, and for that split second, he saw the envy and jealousy and resentment that resided in the older mech like a virus. Spec tore his gaze away and sighed. "A lot of lost opportunities and bitter, angry souls—that's all it creates. Imagine what sort of society we could be if everyone was allowed to fulfill their potential?"

Even though Ratchet had heard parts of that particular story, Perceptor looked gob smacked. He stared at the older mech, mouth slightly agape. "I didn't realize—" he began.

"Of course you slagging didn't," Spec snapped, a hint of that anger bubbling out. "Just by looking at you two, I can tell you were made to fit one of the highest castes. It took a lot of work to create such precise and fine tuned machines as you two when I was created in the breeding factories not even knowing who my slagging creators were! Ever since you were sparked, you two have been given nothing but privilege while I've had to fight servo and pede to get where I am." The older mech gave a derisive snort, and looked at them with something close to disgust. It made Ratchet feel very small and somehow… very guilty for something he couldn't possibly control.

"Until I joined the Decepticons, I was helpless in every aspect of my own fragging life—I couldn't change my fate, I couldn't save my mate, I wasn't even able to help myself…. Oh look how the times have changed," he muttered and leaned down, making some final adjustments to Ratchet's vocals. "You're done," he declared and dropped the tools carelessly on the table beside the berth.

Both Ratchet and Perceptor watched him walk away, neither of them uttering a word. The old medic's words had cut deep- deeper than Ratchet would have thought possible. He couldn't help but imagine what his life would have been like if his and Spec's places had been switched. Would he hold such a strong resentment towards the world as the older mech did? Would he have suffered just as much?

It was a disturbing thought, and one that Ratchet wasn't sure what to do with. He couldn't change his past any more than he could change his present, but somehow, he felt guilty for the privileges he had had in his life. Even worse than that—he felt guilty for the privileges he hadn't even realized he had.

It wasn't until late the next day that Spec so much as looked at him. Ratchet had inadvertently been keeping an optic on his mentor, as though waiting for a perfect moment to say... something that would derail the tension, but that chance never came. Instead, Ratchet had watched the CMO emerge from his office, just long enough to call Spec over to him. A short conversation had followed, and Ratchet watched the two talk, though he couldn't help but notice the growing concern and defiance on Spec's face. Knockout ended the conversation quickly, and though Ratchet couldn't hear what they were saying over the noise of the bay, it seemed like it ended with an order. Spec had swallowed, stood a little straighter and gave a half-sparked salute before he looked up, optics locking with Ratchet's.

Instantly, Ratchet knew something was wrong and he stood rooted to the spot as Spec approached him. He wasn't sure why, but something about Spec's slow, defeated walk scared Ratchet more than anything else he had witnessed in Kaon, as though part of him knew what had been said. Spec put a gentle hand on Ratchet's shoulder.

"Take the Decepticon oath, Ratchet," Spec muttered.

Ratchet's energon seemed to freeze in his lines. "Why?"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. "You're being sent to the front lines. You should at least die a free mech."

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><p>"Ratchet, you can't do this," Perceptor said, his voice shaking. "Please, you can't leave!"<p>

Ratchet's head was still spinning from the news and he frantically tried to think, but Perceptor's anxiety was not helping him concentrate. "Perce, I don't have a choice," he whispered and cupped the young mech's helm. "If I refuse to go they'll put a gun in my hand and send me to the front lines anyway as another body to shield the _real_ soldiers."

Perceptor's vocals let out a small whine of distress, even as he tried to muffle it. "Let me come with you," he said.

"Slag no," Ratchet snapped. He wanted so badly for the young mech to come with him. Even if he would be subjected to a whole different type of danger, at least he would be far away from Landslide. Even so, he knew it was an impossibility. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Perceptor's fate was now out of his hands. "You're still recovering! Even if you were running at one hundred percent, I wouldn't let you come anyway! You're not a fighter!"

"Neither are you!" the young mech shot back.

Ratchet winced at that and shook his aching head. "And I'm not going to be- I'm there to fix people, not shoot at them," he said, trying to reassure himself. "I'm going to be away from the fight."

Perceptor looked at him helplessly and Ratchet saw the terrified youngling that he really was. "What if you don't come back?" he asked in a small voice.

Ratchet swallowed and pulled the mech into a tight embrace. "As soon as Spec gives you the all clear, I want you to go down to Engineering and find Wheeljack. Maybe he can get you re-stationed down there. Take the oath if you have to, but do _not_ let Landslide near you, understand?"

Perceptor's engine hiccuped, his embrace painfully tight. "Please let me come with you," he whispered.

Ratchet sighed and gently pried the mech off. "You know that isn't possible, Perce... as soon as you set foot off of this base, that collar will fry you. Even if you could manage to stow away, where is there to go?"

Perceptor looked around the medbay, watching a combination of medics and soldiers compiling supplies and mechpower for the latest shipment of reinforcements. He leaned in close. "Charr has a large network of natural passageways underneath it. Carrier drones used to be programmed to the tunnels for deliveries between the northern and southern territories. I-I know most of them must have been caved in by now... but maybe there's one still open. Some of them even stretch as far as Polyhex," he whispered.

Ratchet's optics widened at that and his hand tightened on Perceptor's shoulder. "If that's true, I'll go and get help," he whispered. "I promise, Perce, I'll do everything I can to get you and Wheeljack out of here."

Blue optics studied him for a long moment before Perceptor wrapped his arms around him, holding him like a brother. "Please be careful," he whispered.

Ratchet returned the embrace, not wanting to let go. "I'll be fine," he promised, trying to ignore how his voice shook as he said it.

"Ratchet, it's time," Spec said, calling over to him through the noise of the busy medbay.

Perceptor held onto him for a moment longer before finally letting go. Ratchet gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before meeting Spec on the far side of the medbay. His mentor looked him over, expression neutral through his optics glowed with anxiousness. "I need to give you your insignia and stripes," he said.

"Sure you can't skip the insignia?" Ratchet asked.

Spec snorted though his lips quirked up in amusement. "I'll use cheap paint," he promised and gathered the supplies. Ratchet stood very still as Spec centered a stencil on his chassis before using an air brush to fill in the design. When he pulled the stencil away, a purple Decepticon insignia stood out starkly against the white of his paint.

Ratchet looked down at it and reminded himself again and again that it wasn't for real. He would say the oath hollowly and take the sigil, but he knew no loyalty to the cause. It was a necessary lie, and according to Perceptor... potentially what was necessary to help him obtain true freedom again.

"Hold your arms out," Spec instructed.

"No oath?" Ratchet asked, looking at the mech in surprise.

Spec snorted. "Somehow, I feel like making you recite the Decepticon oath is a waste of both of our time," he said.

Ratchet couldn't stop a small smile as he held out his arms. "Thank you, Spec," he said quietly.

The older mech didn't reply even as he changed the color of paint from purple to red. This was never how it was supposed to happen. Getting his stripes was supposed to be a special day, a sign of his accomplishments at the University. But no, not today.

"Why bother with the stripes?" Ratchet asked, his voice shaking as reality slowly started sinking in. He tried to blame it on his newly repaired vocals, but both he and Spec knew the real reason.

The older medic carefully sprayed the red crosses on his shoulders with the highest quality paint, using another carefully placed stencil so the lines were immaculately straight. "The soldiers need something familiar to look for," he said. "They're told to look for the red stripes when they get blown to pieces."

Ratchet swallowed and closed his optics as the mech moved to his other shoulder. "And you think the same with happen to me?" he asked.

Spec was quiet for a long moment. "The Autobots target the medics' tent on the front lines," he said, still keeping his voice low. "They do their best to keep it hidden and out of the way, but it can and does get hit. You're being sent to the border between Kaon and Charr and it's one of the hottest combat areas. We've lost more medics there than any other area, Ratchet. After seeing what you did with the repairs of your friend, I think the CMO's sending you there on purpose out of slagging spite for hiding your skills." The mech sighed quietly and pulled the stencil away, checking his work and wiping away a stray drop of red before it could dry. "What I'm trying to say... is I want you to be _careful,"_ he said at last.

Ratchet finally opened his optics and looked back at the other mech. "Do you really?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

Spec leaned closer, spraying another careful line down his shoulder. "Look... I'm sorry, alright?" he grumbled. "I didn't mean what I said."

"Yes you did," Ratchet said, shoving the weak apology aside. He was quiet for a long moment. "And... it's alright. I understand. I... would hate me too."

Spec scowled audibly. "I don't hate you, Ratchet," he said and he could hear the sincerity in his voice.

Ratchet gave a small laugh, relaxing just a little bit. "I don't hate you either, Spec."

The older mech's lips lifted into a small grin and carefully finished up the last line on his shoulder. He walked around to the front of him to admire his handy work. "Congratulations, Ratchet. I know this isn't how you expected to get them... but you've earned your stripes," he said and Ratchet was able to detect sincerity and many even a small amount of pride in the older mech's voice.

Ratchet gave a small, wavering smile, wishing so badly that different circumstances had brought him to this point. For a moment, he imagined the graduation ceremony he would have gone through, getting his stripes in front of the most esteemed minds on Cybertron. But no, he hadn't passed some final exam, he hadn't been assessed by his betters—no, he had instead worked inventory, patched injuries, saved _lives_. He had done more than just get his stripes. Somehow, during his time in the hell of Kaon, he had earned them.

He looked down at the pristine red that adorned his boxy white shoulders and lifted a finger up to trace one of the lines. "Thank you, Spec," he said quietly.

"You're welcome. Just one more thing," Spec said before going to one of the locked cabinets on the wall. He scanned his ID before pulling out a rather intimidating device from the shelves. It looked like some sort of plug for a dataport, but the middle was hollowed out. Ratchet gave him a wary look and Spec just snorted. "You'll be happy about this part, I swear," he promised before stepping behind Ratchet.

The young mech yelped as the device was closed over the dataport on the back of his helm, causing an uncomfortable pressure around the locked cable that connected him to the collar around his neck. Warnings flashed up on his HUD before there was a click and suddenly the pressure was gone. Another small click sounded and Spec gently removed the unlocked collar from around his neck.

Ratchet ran a shaking hand over his neck and gave a small laugh. "Primus... you have no idea how good that feels," he said, fingers exploring the dataport on the back of his neck in disbelief.

"I can only imagine," Spec said, amusement in his voice, even as he set the collar down. He turned the young mech to face him before pulling him into a tight embrace. "Take care of yourself out there, okay?" he asked and Ratchet felt Spec discreetly slide the unlocking device into his hand. Ratchet smoothly subspaced it and returned the embrace, closing his optics tightly.

"No matter what happens... you won't be seeing me here again," Ratchet said.

Spec nodded and held him at arms length. "I didn't expect to," he said, a sad smile tugging at his lips. It faded quickly and he squeezed his shoulders one more time before giving him a gentle shove. "Hurry up. They want you on the Beta deck in less than a breem."

Ratchet took a fortifying breath and gave a short nod before heading towards through the medbay doors for the last time.


	17. Tunnels

I am so sorry this took so long! I spat out over 50,000 words last month for Nanowrimo and didn't have any time or motivation to work on anything else! I'll be back to a regular(ish) updating schedule, I promise. Thank you for your patience!

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><p>Beta deck was, in a word, chaos. Mechs were running every which way, orders were being barked and Ratchet had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be doing. Other than the crash course of hierarchy inside of the Medbay, he had no idea how the greater Decepticon forces worked. And seeing how he wasn't the only mech who looked a little confused, he, apparently, was not the only one.<p>

Above the noise of the rushing mechs, the sound of idling engines were thrumming from the behemoth of a ship that waited at the edge of the deck, set to launch at a moment's notice. It was a carrier vessel, much like the one Ratchet had been brought to Kaon in, but nearly three times the size. Apparently, whatever sort of reinforcements were being sent to Charr were needed dearly as mechpower and supplies were hurriedly loaded onto the ship.

The thought crossed his mind of hiding and waiting for the chaos to end before sneaking out of HQ, but that idea was quickly quashed as a mech with red medic stripes and officer markings pointed at him.

"You! What's your name?" the mech bellowed.

For a moment, he considered giving a false one, but what good would that do? "Ratchet," he replied.

The mech tossed him a datapad with a checklist. "Watch that shipment of supplies—if anything's missing I'm holding you personally responsible."

Ratchet swore, nearly dropping the datapad, and before he could even straighten up to throw a novice salute, the mech was already gone. Slag it, a fake name would have been a good choice right about now, but it was too late to dwell. Instead, he grudgingly got to work, checking the boxes upon boxes of supplies as they were loaded into the underbelly of the waiting ship. Multitudes of medical supplies, energon, ammunition- it was a tall order.

"Two breems until launch," a mechanical voice announced from the speakers on the deck and Ratchet swore. That wasn't nearly enough time to get all of the supplies properly accounted for by himself. Movement out of the corner of his optic caught his attention and he glanced up, seeing someone ducking behind one of the crates.

"Hey- if you're going to hide out here until launch, tell me what numbers are on those boxes," he barked, trying to make it sound like an order even though he knew he didn't really have any sort of authority.

He heard a thud, and the tower of boxes next to the mech shuddered though they were too tightly tethered down to topple. Swearing, Ratchet walked over and peered around the boxes, seeing a very scared looking Perceptor huddled behind the crates like they were a fortress. The young mech's optics met his and he relaxed, the fear ebbing from his frame.

"Primus- you didn't even sound like yourself," Perceptor said. "I didn't think anyone would be down here so close to launch."

"No one is supposed to be!" Ratchet hissed, not quite overcoming his surprise at seeing the mech here. "What the slag are you_ doing_?!"

Perceptor flinched a little, his optics widening slightly at the harsh tone. He'd never actually seen Ratchet lose his temper before. "Stowing away. Everyone else might have been too busy to notice, but I saw Spec hand you that device," he said.

Ratchet stared at the young mech, mouth slightly agape. "Perce- what the pit would you have done if you hadn't found me and this ship had taken off?" he asked.

Perceptor swallowed, his frame tensing a little bit. "I prefer not to think about that," he said matter-o-factly. "Now, I would like you to take this collar off of me. Now, please."

"Half a breem to launch."

Ratchet swore and shook his head even as he reached into subspace for the unlocking device. "You're glitched," he muttered. He thought for a moment as he carefully clamped the device over the plug on the back of Perceptor's neck. Perceptor flinched but otherwise managed to stay still as Ratchet toyed with the device, being sure he was using it properly. The plug finally slid out and the collar unlocked. Perceptor wasted no time in yanking it from around his neck.

Just as he was about to huck the device to the back of the carrier's storage room, Ratchet grabbed his wrist. "We might want to hold onto that," he said and plucked the collar from his hand before storing it in his subspace. "If nothing else, someone in the Autobots might want to take a look at it. Maybe they can find a way to deactivate the rest of them?"

Percept looked doubtful, but didn't argue. "I suppose it can't hurt," he murmured.

"Final call," the cool voice sounded. "All hands on board. Takeoff in 5 kliks."

Ratchet swore again, optics darting around the cargo hold of the ship. "You need to hide," he said as his optics lighted on a box full of tubing. He yanked the top open and grabbed Perceptor's arm. "Get in. I'll find you once we've landed. Just _stay put._"

Thankfully, the young mech didn't protest and climbed into the crate, pushing some of the sterile tubing out of the way to make a nest of sorts. Ratchet quickly closed the lid and patted the top. "I'll be back," he promised before hurrying out of the cargo hold. He watched the doors hiss closed in preparation for takeoff and ran up the plank into the main hold of the ship.

At least 200 other mechs were sitting in the dark and cramped hold of the ship and though he wasn't the last mech to squeeze into an empty spot along the wall, he had cut it close. Just moments after fumbling with the belts to secure himself in, the ship rumbled to life under him, causing everyone in the hold to sway. Ratchet held on to the straps, a strange mixture of anticipation, nausea and even a small bubble of hope settling in his tanks.

He watched some of the mechs doze off, while others talked amongst themselves. Every so often, one would spout out with some loud, rallying call that the others would respond to, but Ratchet merely rolled his optics at the bravado. One of the mech's sitting next to him was younger than even Perceptor, and his nervousness showed in the way his foot tapped a near constant rhythm on the ground next to him. Even so, when someone started a chant, the young mech would join in, his shaking voice lost to everyone but Ratchet in the din.

The flight seemed to last minutes, even though it was past nightfall by the time they landed. Ratchet hadn't managed to recharge at all and felt stiff and tired as he got to his feet and hurried out with the rest of the reinforcements. He was greeted by the far-off sound of an explosion, the pattering of laser-fire a soft undertone to the violent symphony. Overhead, the dark sky brightened with fiery lights, all far too close for comfort.

He didn't have time to dwell. Instead, he hurried to the cargo hold, pushing his way to the front of the line of mechs ready to unload the ship. He didn't want anyone else uncovering Perceptor before he had a chance to get him somewhere safe. The cargo door hissed open and he hurried inside, finding Perceptor's crate with ease.

He gently knocked a little rhythm on the lid before leaning down and whispering, "Stay put." Over the noise of the cargo hold, he didn't have a huge fear of being overheard, but he kept his voice lowered anyway. Carefully, he loaded the crate onto a hover cart and wheeled it out.

"Med supplies to the left," a voice shouted, and Ratchet did as he was told. He realized that the drop ship had landed on something like a hill, and just downhill were two very distinct paths that had been etched into the crust of the planet. Suddenly, he realized why Charr had been in a stalemate for so long- the battlefield of was riddled with long, winding ruts that had been formed by a long-since dried acid river. It cut veins into the planet's metal crust as tall as any normal sized mech. They were naturally occurring trenches, impossible for anyone to gain the upper hand the terrain.

With no small sense of foreboding, Ratchet wheeled his crate onto the left path, feeling the metal walls rise up and surround him like a prison. He kept his pace quick and glanced behind him, until the drop site was out of view and he was hidden in the curves of the trenches. He pried the lid open and offered Perceptor a hand.

"Out, quick," he said and helped the young mech out of the crate, picking off a piece of tubing that had gotten stuck in a crease in his armor.

Perceptor looked around, optics wide as he looked around. "Primus- I never imagined the veins were this big," he said. "I remember studying Charr- it's one of the most unique geological formations on the planet but nothing in text books captures the /size/ of the acid veins."

Ratchet gave him a gentle shove to get him walking, knowing that he would gawk until his curiosity was satisfied. Perceptor huffed indignantly, but didn't voice a protest. They followed the winding trench for what felt like an eternity and with every step, the blasts of the battle got closer and closer until Ratchet could feel the shock wave of the explosions overhead. They rounded a turn and tucked into the deepest part of four converging veins was a med tent.

Mechs bustled every which way and for a moment, Ratchet froze, not sure where to go. It was so different from the clean and orderly medbay at HQ, he didn't even know where to begin. A rough hand slapped his back, making him stumble forward and nearly tipping the crate off of his hover cart.

"Hurry up, newbie!" It was the same medic with the officer stripes and he looked almost amused as he saw Ratchet's dumbfounded look. The big mech swept passed him and down towards the tent, and Ratchet was quick to follow. Perceptor hurried after him, sticking so close to his back that he nearly ran into him when Ratchet suddenly stopped.

"Who's this?" the mech asked and looked at Perceptor. "He isn't a medic."

"New recruit," Ratchet said, the lie flowing smoothly off of his glossa. "Clumsy glitch- tripped and nearly got trampled coming out of the drop ship. Told him to follow me and I'd fix the dizziness."

The mech snorted. "Hurry up- we don't have time to waste on glitches like him- hey! Watch what you're doing with that! Those are sensitive parts!" he snapped, his attention diverted, thankfully, to a couple mechs who nearly dropped a crate of replacement protoform parts.

"This way," Ratchet hissed and dragged Perceptor to an empty berth near the edge of the entrenched med-tent. Just beyond the lip of the tent, was one of the many veins- too thin for many bulkier mechs, but for him and Perceptor, it would be a tight squeeze and nothing more. He hefted Perceptor up onto one of the tables, looking him over critically. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Repairs holding?"

Perceptor nodded, his optics bright and wide. "Y-yeah, so far I feel fine," he said. "A little tired, but nothing dire."

Ratchet nodded. "Let's keep it that way," he said.

"Relief from Kaon, I hope you're rested! You're taking first shift," the commanding mech bellowed. He pulled out a roster and read, "Privates Hookshot, Newbelt, Ratchet, Sawtooth and Spindrift- report to me."

Perceptor looked up at Ratchet, optics wide. Ratchet felt his own spark pulse uncomfortably, a thrill of adrenaline rushing through him. Whatever the mech wanted, didn't bode well. "Stay here. I'll be right back," he promised. Perceptor looked like he was about to argue, but Ratchet hurried over to the officer before he could say anything.

The big mech looked around, doing a quick head count. "You six were commended as being steady under pressure," he said. "That's why I'm sending you all out to the field to aid the combat medics. You'll be on the transport convoys that run through the veins. Stabilize priority cases and we'll take it from there. Be _alert_. Slagging Autobots are sneaky- they've broken into some of the veins behind our lines. We caught the leak, but we don't know how many made it through- be wary of mechs that don't have insignias. Disable first and ask questions later." He looked around, as though being sure every mech was paying close attention. "Your priorities are keeping your convoys going and stabilizing any mechs that need it. Battle's running hot today- it's gonna be a busy one. You're heading out in two breems. Suit up with supply and prepare to roll out."

The mech pointed to a supply station where already prepared field kits and supplies had been laid out. Ratchet grabbed his pack and one of the supply mechs shoved a gun into his hands. He nearly dropped everything and glared at the mech, even as he he obediently stored the gun in his subspace. No matter what, he wasn't going to use it- he was a healer, not a fighter.

He supplied up as quickly as he could manage before rushing back to Perceptor. "We need to get you out of here, now," he said quickly.

Perceptor sat up on the medberth, optics wide. "Why? What happened?" he asked and glanced over Ratchet's shoulder nervously.

"They're looking for mechs without insignias," he said and flicked Perceptor's bare chassis. He glanced around, trying to gauge if anyone was paying attention to them. "I've been assigned to work on one of the patient convoys."

"You're not going to, are you?" Perceptor asked, alarmed.

"Of course not," Ratchet scoffed. He watched the head medic barking orders and turn the other direction before Ratchet grabbed Perceptor's arm and shoved him back into the gap in the metal wall. "Go as far as you can," he ordered and gave him another push to get him moving. Perceptor muttered something under his breath and squeezed himself back as far as he could manage—it was a very tight fit. Ratchet could see scrapes of paint coming off of the mech's back and chassis where they connected with the constricting walls. Just as he was about to hit a curve and get out of sight, something under him cracked.

Ratchet could only watch in horror as Perceptor fell, sliding down out of sight and deep into the metal vein. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder, didn't hear the surprised shout of one of the other medics as he rushed into the vein, ignoring the scrapes and scratches he was causing and slid down the hole after him. For a sickening moment, he dropped, but his frame was bulkier than Perceptor's and he managed to get his feet and hands out to slow his descent.

He grit his dentals, slowing himself down to a stop in the narrow crevasse. Stiffly, he glanced under him, trying to see anything in the darkness, but to no avail. The wall scraped his back and hands and pedes and he half walked, half slid down the narrow chasm, moving slowly and carefully so he didn't lose his tentative grip. It narrowed the further down he got, and just when the passage got too constricted for him to continue further in his half-bent position, his aft dipped into open air. Below him, the passage opened up into a wide half dome and Ratchet instantly realized they had reached one of the tunnels Perceptor had spoken of.

He grunted and twisted as best as he could in the tight space, knowing that if he slipped or positioned himself poorly, he'd fall straight through. Holding on to the tentative grip he had, he shined a light down below him, trying to see how far of a drop it was. Maybe three times his height- it would jar his system, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He scanned the ground and swore as his beam of light shone down on Perceptor, lying sprawled on the ground below.

"Perce!" he cried, his voice echoing through the cavern. Steeling himself, he positioned himself feet-first and let himself drop. His tanks lurched and he hit the ground harder than he meant to, jarring his knee a little, but he ignored the twinge as he hurried over the the other mech.

Perceptor groaned, his optics flickering unsteadily before they slowly cleared. He pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his helm, brushing off flecks of rust and debris. "I'm alright," he said.

Ratchet wasn't convinced and helped him to his feet, peering at the back of his helm. "How did you fall?" he asked.

Perceptor coughed, more flecks of debris coming out of his vents. "Straight on my back," he said and coughed again, his vents rattling as he did.

Ratchet winced. "You probably knocked a couple somethings loose then," he said and shone the light into his main helm vents. One of them had a broken fan that was causing the unhealthy rattle, but fortunately, the other side seemed fine. "We'll move slow," he promised. "You won't overheat if we take it easy. Your tanks?"

Perceptor ran a hand over his abdomen, giving a half-sparked grin. "I'll be fine," he said.

"Perceptor," Ratchet said, a warning underlying his tone.

The young mech sighed. "It's nothing- it's just... twinging," he said.

Ratchet looked at the mech, waiting for him to continue, but a small piece of falling debris from above cut his thoughts short. "If that pain gets worse, you tell me instantly, got it?" he said. Perceptor nodded quickly and Ratchet grabbed his arm, bringing him into step next to him.

Almost on impulse, he activated his GPS, and was surprised to find that not only that worked, but his comm. systems were up and running again. He had known the collar was blocking the functions, but he had adapted so well over time that the influx of information was almost overwhelming. Maps and diagrams popped up on his HUD as well as a warning of outdated information.

He swore. "Apparently the planet's maps haven't been updated in well over a vorn," he said. "There's no telling which of these tunnels is still intact."

Perceptor gently tugged his arm out of his grip and headed off down the leftmost path. "Well, we better get started then," he said matter-o-factly.

Ratchet swore and double checked the tunnel Perceptor had chosen, realizing it was the best choice. The others curved back, heading towards Kaon or to Praxus, and both of them knew those certainly weren't the paths to take. Apparently Perceptor's GPS was working just fine as well. Without another word, he hurried to catch up to the mech.

"Where does this tunnel lead to?" Ratchet asked, giving up on trying to read his internal map. Perceptor was far more adept at it than he was anyway.

"This one- if it's still intact, will lead us to a smaller cross station. It's further out of the way, but I think it will be our best bet," he said, his optics distant as he accessed his maps. "From there, we'll hit another fork that will lead us towards Polyhex. Eventually, we'll have to go back above ground, but we'll be far away from Charr by then. I'm avoiding the main cross station, simply because I think it will either be guarded or destroyed. Its cross sections lead to far too many areas under the battlefield for it to be left open safely."

"Probably a good idea," Ratchet said, trying to register it all. It was going to be a long journey. Polyhex was days to the west in alt mode and Perceptor didn't have that luxury. His alt mode was geared towards research, while Ratchet's, like most other mechs, was geared towards transportation.

They walked on in silence for a long while, and the pain in Ratchet's leg dwindled to a dull ache. The tunnel they were in was fairly straight, but there were many other veins that connected to it. Some of them led all the way up to the surface, giving them glimpses of light from the above world. Those were the ones that made Ratchet the most nervous. With the light of the planet's rising suns came the sounds of battle. The volume varied, but the sounds stayed familiar- the echoing crashes of mortar rounds on the planet's metal crust, the thudding boom of explosions and occasionally, the hiss of laser fire.

At one point, an explosion fell so close to them, the shock of it rocked the ground above and beneath them. Ratchet had thrown himself over Perceptor, shielding the younger mech as rusted and corroded pieces of metal rained from the ceiling. He had feared the ground above them was going to collapse, but it held steady and they had hurried quickly on, all too glad when the tunnel shifted slightly, taking them further away from the battlefield.

Ratchet kept a close optic on Perceptor, but it took nearly half a day of walking until the young mech stumbled. Ratchet was there to steady him and put a gentle hand on his back. The mech was running hot and he could hear how he was trying to hide the unhealthy shuttering of his vents.

"You're overexerting yourself," he said and pushed the mech back to sit down against the curving wall of the tunnel.

"I am n-"

"Stop, yes you are," Ratchet interrupted and brought out a cube of coolant from the supplies he'd been given earlier. "Drink this. You go through it faster when your vents are working properly and believe me, coolant deprivation is awful."

Perceptor made a face, knowing the legendarily bad taste of coolant well, but he grabbed the cube anyway. Ratchet watched him take the first sip and grimace before nodding in approval. He ran a scan and tried not to let his nervousness show on his face. This pace wasn't good for the recent repairs Perceptor had just undergone, but the mech didn't seem to be having any issues processing the coolant he had been given. Pushing aside his worry for now, Ratchet looked around. A sliver of light caught his attention and while Perceptor made his slow way through the cube, he went to investigate.

It was another deep vent, wider than many that they had come across and Ratchet could see the light of Cybertrons suns. It was a long day- the bigger sun still high in the sky, though the smaller, binary star had orbited around to the other side of the planet. Above, he could hear the sounds of the ever-lasting battle- close, but not enough to be dangerous. Over the constant sounds of weapons, Ratchet could hear voices- orders being barked, shouts and cries of soldier. It made him wince and walk back towards Perceptor, only to hear the sounds echo in the tunnels- except these sounds were coming from _in_ the tunnel. And very close by.

"Fall back, fall back!" a voice yelled. A peppering of artillery followed and Ratchet heard the same voice cry out in pain. He grabbed Perceptor and yanked him to his feet, hearing footsteps heading their direction from one of the smaller tunnels. Almost as an afterthought, Ratchet grabbed the gun he had been given out of subspace, clutching it tightly in his hand. The sounds of the footsteps were getting nearer, but the echoes of the tunnel made it impossible to tell which direction they were coming from.

Perceptor clung to his hand, optics wide and frightened and Ratchet made his choice. He pulled the younger mech down the tunnel a little ways before leading him into a branching tunnel to the left- big enough that both of them could fit. It was the dead wrong choice.

All Ratchet had time to register was two optics widen in surprise before his finger tightened around the trigger. There was a pop and the gun in his hand jerked in his tight grip. The mech in front of him flinched. His hands flew to his abdomen and he took a tentative step backwards. He seemed almost reluctant to take his gaze off of Ratchet before he slowly looked down at the newly made hole in his middle. The mech looked at Ratchet, blue optics dimming and his mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out as he fell to his knees. His vents slowed down and shut off and his optics dimmed further before he crashed to the ground. Ratchet caught a glimpse of a symbol on the mech's chassis, just above the hole he had made, and it made him sick. A puddle of energon and coolant leaked out from under him and Ratchet took a horrified step back, the gun in shock.

Hurried footsteps rounded the corner of the passageway and the five mechs stopped, taking just a split second to absorb the scene in front of them. A big red mech, apparently the leader of the group was the first to recover. He leveled his gun at Ratchet, blue optics bright and fierce and Ratchet slowly registered the same symbol on his chassis- red outlined in white.

Autobots. They were Autobots.

"On the ground!" the mech shouted, accent a thick Polyhexian drawl.

Ratchet didn't even have the will to disobey. He sank to his knees and put his hands up, Perceptor following his lead. He heard shouts and orders from the group of mechs, but his audios were fuzzy, his optics focusing on the mixture of blue and pink—entranced by the rapidly growing puddle under the mech he had just killed.


	18. Autobots

Who would guess getting in the habit of writing 1,667 words a day would make chapters come out quicker!

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><p>The device on the back of his helm sparked again, keeping his optics and audios offline. Vaguely, he realized that it was blocking his Comm. and GPS systems as well, but that was a far lesser worry than the fact that he currently couldn't see or hear slag. He stumbled and a hand grabbed his shoulder to steady him before leading him on, steering him right and then left and then right again- or at least he thought. It was almost impossible to tell, and he knew that was the point.<p>

The journey took longer than expected, or maybe it just felt that way. His chronometer was disabled as well and the passage of time seemed to stretch. Suddenly, the hand on his shoulder was back and something kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel. A hand on his helm and then the world came rushing back.

The light nearly blinded him and the sudden audio feed made him gasp and cringe, head ducked low as though that would somehow help avoid the sensory onslaught. The buzzing slowly subsided and distinct voices started to register.

"-found him and his buddy skulkin' around through the tunnels under Decepticon lines," a gruff voice said and Ratchet blinked, recognizing the voice of the red mech that had put the inhibitor on him in the tunnels, even without being able to properly see him. "The medic had shot and killed Backdraft before we even realized he was there."

"And his friend?" another voice asked. Ratchet blinked and his vision slowly cleared. The red mech was talking to a tall red, white and blue mech that had audial towers rising up proudly from his helm. Neither appeared to pay him any attention so Ratchet looked around, trying to get a bearing on where he'd been taken. They were in a camp of some sort and judging by the rusted and corroded metal above them, they were still in the tunnels somewhere. Crates of supplies made up one entire wall, and in front of it, a makeshift desk of an empty crate was stacked with maps and datapads. Perceptor was nowhere to be seen.

"No insignia," the red mech said. "We're doing a check on him now."

"Where is he? Where's Perceptor?" Ratchet asked and tried to get to his feet only to have a heavy hand from behind hold him down.

The two mechs looked at him in unison and neither looked pleased at being interrupted. Ratchet sank down a little lower, regretting the decision instantly as he saw the very big guys the mechs had at their sides for easy access.

"Yer friend collapsed halfway through the tunnels," the red mech said at last. "One of our medibots are seeing to him."

Ratchet felt a rush of panic up his spine. That was not good. "Please," he said quickly. "He's had a recent tank replacement- he's in danger of the tank breaking off at the weld lines. If he collapsed, it may have already happened! He needs a specialist!"

The red mech snorted. "And you're a specialist, are you?" he asked, his optics looking him over derisively.

Ratchet struggled to his feet, throwing his shoulder back to dislodge the hand that tried to hold him in place. "Yes, I am!" he snapped. "My name is Ratchet, I'm a graduate of the Praxus University of Medicine and Technology and my friend will _die_ if I don't get him the proper treatment!" The red mech scoffed, looking at Ratchet like he was worth less than the scum on the bottom of his pede. Ratchet took a step forward, anger tightening his armor close to his frame. "I've gotten us too far to let you get in the way of his safety!"

The red mech had a hand on his gun, a dark scowl on his face. "Mech, I ain't letting you anywhere," he growled and closed the short distance between them. Ratchet stood his ground, even as the mech came chassis to chassis with him. He found that the other was only a couple inches taller than him and he met his optics unwaveringly, lips drawn into a flat, stubborn line. "You killed one of my mechs, Decepticreep. The only reason I didn't shoot you dead on sight is because of those," he said and flicked the red cross on Ratchet's shoulder.

Ratchet bared his dentals. "I am _not_ a Decepticon," he growled. He looked down at his chassis and dragged his fingers through the insignia, causing the cheap paint to fleck off under his digits. "I was press-ganged into the Decepticons after they took Praxus. I'm a Neutral and I want no part of your war!"

The red mech glared at him, optics narrowed into icy slits. The red and blue mech put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back a step. "He's not going anywhere, Ironhide," he muttered. "And we got the report from command- his story is plausible."

The mech named Ironhide sneered, his optics never leaving Ratchet's. "It's your camp, Magnus. Do what you want," he snapped. He pointed a finger at Ratchet, poking the glass of his chassis. "I'm watching you, mech. One misstep and I'll send you to meet Backdraft personally."

Ratchet returned the glare as the red mech brushed past him. Ultra Magnus watched him go before looking at Ratchet, uncertainty clear on his face. The internal debate lasted for only a moment.

"Empty your subspace pockets," he ordered.

Ratchet did as he was asked without hesitation. They were wasting time! He dropped the emergency medical kit and energon rations he'd been given back at the Decepticon camp, as well as a few old datapads and the collar that had been around Perceptor's neck as well as the unlocking device Spec had given him. He hesitated on the collar and unlocking device before handing them to the mech. "Take these to one of your mechs to look at- there are more like us still stuck in Kaon HQ. That device is the only way to get the collars off without killing them," he said.

Magnus didn't say anything, but he took the items from Ratchet and stored them in his own subspace. He hoped that was a good sign. The mech nodded to the guard behind Ratchet and put a strong hand on his shoulder, steering him down one of the tunnels that led from the room. He kept Ratchet in front of him and the young medic could almost feel his optics boring into his back as he told him which tunnels to take with a quiet word.

They turned one last corner and before the makeshift med-tent even came into sight, Ratchet could hear Perceptor screaming. Without even thinking, he ran, jerking out from under Magnus' hand and sprinting down the tunnel. He emerged into a brightly lit med-tent and found Perceptor lying on one of the berths, a small cluster of mechs surrounding him. A small femme was spouting orders, but just by listening to her frantic words, he realized she had no idea what she was doing. Vaguely, he heard Ultra Magnus yell something, but he ignored him as he rushed to the berth.

"Out of my way!" he barked and shoved a mech aside to get a look at Perceptor. Already, they had him hooked up to a monitor and his readings fluctuated wildly. It was only when he looked at his abdomen, that he saw the trail of coolant leaking out from under his armor. He prayed it was just what he'd ingested earlier and not a torn line.

"I need a sedative, now!" he shouted and pulled the table of tools closer, praying that they were clean. He removed his friend's abdominal armor with practiced ease, seeing that the newly replaced tank had cracked along the weld lines, causing a dangerous leak as well as screaming pain. Fortunately, it hadn't detached entirely- that would have caused so much internal damage, torn so many important energon and coolant lines out of place that he probably wouldn't have survived. He couldn't help but feel relieved, even though Perceptor's pained screams made him cringe.

Perceptor weakly gripped his shoulder, trying to push him away. "I know, I know it hurts Perce," Ratchet said and hurried to deaden the sensors even as the femme injected a sedative into the main line in Perceptor's neck. The hands on his shoulder lost more and more of their strength until Perceptor slumped against the berth, his optics dim. Nothing more than quiet whimpers escaped his vocals as Ratchet worked to clean and re-set the repair. Fortunately, the replacement tank hadn't cracked and it was a matter of thoroughly cleaning the area before resealing it back into place and welding it closed once more. He gave the mech both an energon and a coolant drip before he finally relaxed, leaning against the berth tiredly.

The bay around him felt too quiet and he glanced up, glaring around at the other medics. "What?" he snapped, too tired for good manners.

The femme who had helped him took a tentative step forward. "You're professionally trained- I mean, not a combat medic, you're a doctor- a _surgeon_," she said, her voice quiet as she offered a rag to him.

Ratchet looked at the femme before glancing around the rest of the med tent. "Yes... I was trained at the Praxus University of Medicine. I trained as a general practitioner before I went back into residency to become a surgeon," he said and took the rag gratefully, wiping the coolant from his hands. As his optics scanned the room, his hands froze. Every mech in the room, _every one_ had an Autobot marking, but not a one of them had their stripes.

For a moment, he was dumbstruck. He had spent enough time at Kaon HQ to know that even the Decepticons trained their combat medics to the level of giving them their stripes. Granted, those standards weren't what the University in Praxus required, but it was at least adequate. If they didn't have their stripes, they at least had a certified physician coaching them through their work- usually that had been Spec or one of the other time-hardened medics.

"You... you don't have an overseeing physician here?" Ratchet asked and looked at Ultra Magnus, his shock showing on his face.

Ultra Magnus stepped forward. "We... are understaffed," he said. "Charr has been designated a dead end from the Council and Autobot High Command. We have a few medics in the trenches but due to the conditions of the battlefield... downed mechs usually stay down." He didn't look at all happy with it, even as he said.

Ratchet gaped. "Set up a convoy system, for Primus sake!" he said. "That's what the Decepticons have done! They have a facility set up at the back of their camp and use a convoy system through the tunnels that are each manned with a trained medic! They stabilize them on the convoy and hand them off to what may as well be a fully stocked facility and get them back up to die another day in your slagged war!"

Magnus' expression darkened. "You think we haven't tried that?" he asked. "Even if we could set up some sort of convoy, we don't have enough trained staff to help stabilize injured mechs. They'd be dead before they go here."

Ratchet rolled his optics and held his arms wide. "Then I'm your Primus-sent gift aren't I?" he snapped. He was so tired of death, so tired of pain and suffering that hearing this mech, this _commander_ say there was nothing to be done, made his energon boil. "After over 14 vorns of practice alone, I think I have the qualifications to train your mechs."

Magnus looked at him, face unreadable as he crossed his arms over his chassis. "Why would you help us, Decepticon?" he asked.

Ratchet wanted to slap him. "I am NOT a DECEPTICON!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with anger. He sent his general identification to the mech over an open channel, letting everyone in the room see it. "I was kidnapped from Praxus right before the Decepticons burned it to the ground! Why the PIT would I have any loyalty to them after what they've done?"

Ultra Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but Ratchet cut him off, gaining a horrified gasp from the mechs that were watching. "No, I'm done being silenced! I spent six meta-cycles in Kaon HQ wearing a slave collar and living in fear of getting fried if I stepped out of line! And what did the Autobots do? NOTHING. No, I feel no loyalty to your cause either- not after you left us to rot there, let my friends get killed and raped and tortured all in the name of your war!" He ran an agitated hand over his helm, his optics so bright they were almost white as it all spilled out.

"The only reason I'm offering to help?" He gave a small, broken laugh. "I'm tired of seeing mechs die. I'm tired of the destruction your war is causing, of the _senseless waste of life_. And _you_," he said, pointing at Ultra Magnus. "You would send them out there to do it knowing DAMN well that they won't be coming back and you won't even _try _to save them? I met monsters and murderers in Kaon but I have _never_ met a coward like you."

He sat down on a stool next to Perceptor's berth, his knees suddenly weak, his helm aching. Cradling his helm in his hand, he shuttered his optics, a long, low sigh escaping him. It was the only sound other than the beeping of Perceptor's monitor that broke the horrified silence of the room.

"No one," Ultra Magnus said, "has _ever_ spoken to me that way."

Ratchet looked up at the tall mech, his optics hard. "Maybe it was due time then," he said.

Ultra Magnus stared down at him, as though he wasn't quite sure what to make of this crazed mech. He finally turned to one of the mechs in the room. "Find Ironhide," he said. "Get his psy-ops mech in here. I want him to get a full statement from this mech to send along to command."

"Yes sir, Ultra Magnus" the mech said, throwing an expert salute.

Ultra Magnus looked back at Ratchet, arms crossed over his chassis. Ratchet turned his back on him and looked down at Perceptor. The sedatives had taken full hold a while ago, and the mech was recharging peacefully. Rest was all he needed now.

"Do you have contacts in Iacon, Ultra Magnus?" Ratchet asked after a quiet moment.

"I have contacts to the Prime himself," the mech rumbled, no small amount of irritation in his voice.

Ratchet nodded. "Good," he said. "You will want to listen to my statement as well. This information needs to get to the right hands, before it's too late."


	19. Safety

Ratchet's fingers drummed against the makeshift crate, optics concentrating on a divot in the metal that warped his reflection, making him look like the left side of his face had caved in. He looked up at Ultra Magnus- the stoic mech was standing silently in the corner, though he seemed to exude the same anxiousness Ratchet was feeling. Footsteps from down one of the tunnels got louder until two mechs emerged. The bulky red mech, Ironhide, had to duck slightly to get through the cramped portal, and behind him, a much smaller mech followed.

He was a lanky thing, lacking the bulky armor most mechs he'd seen around here had and what small amount of armor he did possess was shaped close to his frame and painted orange or white. His optics were round and bright blue and above them, two prominent ridges rested, giving his face an usually expressive quality. He smiled at Ratchet as he walked into the room and took a seat across from him, while Ironhide stayed towards the back. The red mech leaned over and muttered a word to Magnus, but Ratchet couldn't begin to hear what they said.

"Hello, Ratchet," the little orange mech said, drawing his attention back to him as he took a seat across from him. "My name is Rung."

Ratchet narrowed his optics slightly at the mech's tone- it sounded far too familiar. Automatically, his optics were drawn from the Autobot symbol on his chassis to the symbol on his shoulder, a three-quarter circle with a line reaching across the middle. "Aaah, they brought me a shrink," Ratchet said with a scowl.

Rung shook his head. "Yes, I am a trained psychologist, but that's not why I'm here. I've been put in charge of collaborating between Ultra Magnus' camp and the Wreckers. And since the Wreckers found you so near Ultra Magnus' operations, you get me," he said and held his hands out, still using that same gentle tone. It reminded Ratchet of the psych mechs that had been training at the University- every one of them had that... calming quality about them.

As much as he wanted to be annoyed, he relaxed a little. The mech was the first person here who didn't look at him like an enemy. "Do you want me to start from the beginning or just cut to the important stuff?" Ratchet asked.

Rung gave a small smile and reached into subspace. He pulled out a small recorder and set it on the table. "Let's start from the beginning- it's hard to say what's important and what isn't when you don't have the whole story," he said. Ratchet shrugged at that, though his fingers still continued their anxious tapping. The bomb Perceptor had uncovered was supposed to detonate in ten days- a few more minutes weren't going to hurt their already slim chances.

He started talking, not looking at any of the mechs in the room as he spoke. It felt like a story that he had told countless times before, though in reality, the only people who had even heard parts of it where Spec and Wheeljack. It had echoed in his processor for so long that telling it now seemed almost... hollow, like simply retelling the story wasn't enough to do it justice after he had lived it. Just as Rung had asked, he didn't leave out any details. As hard as it was, he told them everything- about Meister and Bluestreak and Soundwave and what he had had to do to keep Perceptor alive.

As the words about what he had done tumbled from his vocals, he sank down lower in his chair, almost feeling the outrage from the two mechs in the corner. Addling with memories was dangerous and highly illegal, but he had known that when he did it. He thought that admitting to what he had done would lessen the guilt, but somehow, it only made it worse. When he finally finished, it felt like his voice was about to give out and he sat hunched over the makeshift desk, afraid to look up at the three pairs of optics that bore into him.

"Ratchet," Rung said. He slowly raised his head, feeling like a pede was pressed against the back of his neck. "I want you to know that you are safe here."

The words washed over him and he closed his optics, a bit of the tension easing out of his frame as he propped his tired helm on his fingers. "Thank you," he said quietly, his sincerity emerging from his very spark.

Rung offered a small smile. "We need to know more about this bomb- as much as you can possibly recall," he said.

Ratchet gave a short, humorless laugh. "That's the thing- it's not my memory to recall. Other than what Perceptor told me, I only saw glimpses when I was going through his memory matrix," he said.

"We _need _that information," Ironhide said, speaking up for the first time. "You'll have to undo the damage you did."

Ratchet turned and looked at the mech in disbelief. "Let me point out to you all that is wrong with that plan," he said and slowly got to his feet. "One, that mech tried to _kill_ himself while those memories were intact. Two, he just underwent a major surgery, excruciating pain, and then _another _major surgery to fix what you fragged up- he should be put into mandatory stasis for the next ten days in a CR chamber, not reliving his time in Kaon. Three, even if I _wanted_ to fix those memories, I have no idea how! I corrupted them so they would be irretrievable! _No one_ should have to remember all that he went through," he finished and realized that he had ascended into a yell the more he talked.

Ironhide didn't flinch. His arms crossed over his chassis and his optics narrowed. "Tough slag," he said simply. "You'll find a way to get them."

"Like pit I will," Ratchet shot back.

The red mech's mouth lifted up into a smirk, as though he had wanted Ratchet to argue. "Alright fine, now let me tell you your options," he said, voice hard. "If you refuse to try, I can say I don't believe a lick of yer story- you'll be arrested and taken to Iacon as a war criminal where you can wait and see the bomb to go off personally. If you're lucky, Iacon's defenses will be enough to stop it or your friend actually _did_ manage to reprogram the coordinates and you'll live to go on trial for treason against Cybertron and for crimes of abusing your position as a medical professional. If yer not lucky, you die and so does every other mech in Iacon and I'll make _sure_ you have a cell with a view so you can watch it go down."

Ratchet opened his mouth to talk, but his vocals gave an aborted hiss of static. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. In his need to keep Perceptor safe, he'd forgotten about the stakes.

He grit his dentals. "This will kill him," he said quietly. "You didn't see him after he tried to end it... there was nothing in him. I-it was like he had already died inside."

A light hand registered on his shoulder. "Then it's a good thing I'm here," Rung said. "I promise that I will help Perceptor through this."

Ratchet gave a shuddering sigh and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his optics until they registered static. "Let's get started before I decide that cell sounds preferable."

* * *

><p>Once Ratchet had gotten a better look at what the "medical facilities" offered, he doubted it would be possible. He ignored Ironhide hovering near the exits and had to try even harder to ignore Rung, who followed him like some sort of lost turbo-puppy, offering to help at any turn. Ultra Magnus had excused himself, with the promise to return once he had sent along Ratchet's statement, though Ratchet wished he wouldn't- he had too many distractions as it was.<p>

"This... this is pitiful," Ratchet said at last, running a hand over his helm. "You have... an outdated processor scanner, only two of the three connectors I need and only _one_ functioning computer that is capable of creating the program I need to even think of restoring his memories, and it's in another slagging part of your base." He looked at Ironhide, his doubt clear. "I-I don't know if this is possible."

Ironhide's engine rumbled in irritation, but it seemed directed more at the situation than at Ratchet now. "We can transport yeh to a facility that has the supplies you need... but getting in an' out of Charr is dangerous and it wastes time we don' have. We have a convoy headed here tomorrow, but lifting it back out might take another day or two," he said. "Rung can help yeh however you need… but if you think it's a waste of time attempting it here, we'll focus our energy on gettin' yeh moved somewhere else."

Ratchet ran a hand over his helm, swallowing thickly. "Tampering with his memory matrix is risky, even with the proper equipment- they're not supposed to have changes made to them," he said.

Ironhide snorted. "Well, who's fault was that?" he muttered and Rung shot him a glare. The red mech shrugged but didn't say anything else, settling back against the wall again.

Rung looked at Ratchet, a long-suffering sigh escaping him. "I have quite a bit of experience with memory matrices," he said and gently pulled a hardline connection from his wrist before plugging it into the back of Perceptor's helm. "Let me have a look first and I'll give my opinion."

Ratchet nodded and stepped back, trying to cover his own discomfort. Other than Spec, he didn't trust anyone else to touch the mech, but his optics drifted back towards Rung's shoulders where his qualifications were displayed and relaxed a little. The mech had training in this area that he didn't. It was unusual for him to feel so… ignorant. Rung's expressive optics went white as he used his overrides to enter the mech's memory matrix. Instantly, a look of concern crossed his face.

"Oh... Oh goodness," he said. "You definitely did some work here- there's an entire chunk of time that's been corrupted."

Ratchet couldn't help but be a little impressed. When he'd gone into Perceptor's memory matrix, he had been overwhelmed by having to deal with an entire other set of memories on top of his own. He didn't even realize speaking was a possibility when he had been hooked in, but Rung handled it with ease, separating his mind from Perceptors with the help of long practice.

"I didn't know what else to do," Ratchet said quietly.

Rung's optics slowly cleared as he carefully extracted himself from the mech's processor. He blinked a couple of times, as though being sure he was back inside of himself before looking at Ratchet. "You did quite a job on them... but I think it's possible to recover those memories, even here," he said. "In fact, I think your friend is already getting bits and pieces of his lost time back. Just flashes, mind you, but they're coming back none-the-less. We just need to speed up that process."

Ratchet gaped at him. "How is that even possible?" he asked. "I deleted entire lines of code to make those memory files unreadable."

Rung smiled. "The processor is a fascinating thing," he said. "Just as your body has auto-repair to help seal breaks and leaks, your processor is capable of going through a very similar process. Have you ever experienced a mech with natural memory loss before? Not from repressing a traumatic event, but due to an injury?"

Ratchet frowned and shook his head. "It's... not common. We have so many lines of defense to keep our processors safe," he said.

"That's very true," Rung said. "But it does happen. And when it does, that mech's processor will try it's best to make up for the lost time. Autorepair kicks in in a different way and tries to actually patch those damaged or corrupted files. Some organic creatures I've come across experience something similar. Memory loss is a much more common occurrence among organics because of their lack of protection, and their brains will actually _create _false memories to make up for gaps in their own knowledge. Fortunately, we don't have to worry about that. Our autorepair has evolved to such a level that it will attempt to recover the memories for us," he said, voice high and excited. Ratchet couldn't stop a small grin. The mech certainly loved what he did, and it showed in how his face lit up with enthusiasm the more he spoke.

"I don't know much about that, but I'll take your word on it," Ratchet said. "In theory, it makes sense, but processors are your area of expertise, not mine."

Rung smiled, but Ironhide cleared his throat loudly before the psy-ops mech could speak. "This is fascinatin' an all, but we are kinda on a time crunch here," he said, no small hint of annoyance in his voice.

Rung heaved another long-suffering sigh and Ratchet had a feeling he was going to get very used to that sound in the days to come. His bright blue optics met Ratchet's and he offered a small smile. "I guess we better get started."

* * *

><p>Under Ratchet's insistence, Perceptor stayed in stasis during their work. He told himself it was to keep the little scientist from exhausting himself while trying to help, but he knew it was purely for selfish reasons. If the young mech was awake, he would start asking questions again, and Ratchet wasn't in any mindset to be able to answer them. Even as they made progress, tweaking the files and lines of code, Ratchet wasn't sure what he was going to do when they finally brought Perceptor back online.<p>

It was tiring, meticulous work, but they jumped right into it. Ratchet ignored the fact that he hadn't slept or had a meal since he'd left Kaon and helped Rung get Perceptor hooked up to the functioning console in Ultra Magnus' makeshift office. They had simply rolled Perceptor's medberth into the small alcove before wheeling in the rest of the supplies they needed. It only took a few breems to get everything hooked up, but the real work had only just begun.

They worked steadily, one of them hooked directly to Perceptor, the other hooked to the console to help guide the makeshift program through his mind. One slip and they could risk corrupting more of the mech's memories, or even damaging the sensitive workings of his processor. Fortunately, Ratchet realized he could trust Rung- the gentle mech knew what he was doing and he found a fascination with it that kept him going, even long after Ratchet had worn himself out.

"You should rest," Rung said. It was hard not to notice Ratchet staring blankly at the processor readouts for nearly a full breem. "You've had a very long day."

Ratchet gave a short laugh at the understatement and rubbed his optics, as he slowly drifted out of his daze. A part of him realized it had been two full cycles since he'd recharged last. "I don't want to leave this to you to do alone," he said hesitantly.

Rung offered a kind smile. "I can handle it," he said. "Besides, I should have made you recharge a long time ago. I... get absorbed in projects easily." When Ratchet still looked hesitant, Rung said and motioned to the cot in the corner, "If it will make you feel better, you can rest there. I doubt Ultra Magnus will mind."

Ratchet looked at the other mech and saw the gentle worry on his face. He couldn't stop a small smile and felt himself relax a little further, his exhaustion catching up to him fully. He hadn't had anyone look at him with that expression in a long time and something about it triggered a memory from long ago. They were safe here.

Suddenly, it was all he could do to keep his optics online. "Thank you," he said sincerely and stumbled over to the cot. It was over-sized, big enough to fit a mech like Magnus and as soon as Ratchet's helm hit the recharge pad, he slept.

He slept like a dead mech, like the comings and goings of mechs didn't exist. He was oblivious to everything- to Ironhide scowling as he caught sight of him, to Rung's occasional checkups as he took breaks from his work and from Ultra Magnus' surprised face as he came in to find his cot already occupied. He didn't even notice when a familiar face walked through the door, though now his paint job had been inverted and his visor glowed a dark blue.

"Yup, that's him," Jazz said, a small surprised laugh escaping him. "Holy slag."

Ironhide snorted, fingers drumming against his arm. "He mentioned a mech by th' name of Meister," he said and looked at the other mech flatly, keeping his voice down even as he glanced over his shoulder at Rung. The mech was so absorbed in his work, imbedded so deeply in Perceptor's processor that he didn't hear a word they said. "Wonder where he mighta met someone like that? Especially when that someone's supposed to be dealing with Soundwave and valuable intel, not some youngling medic."

Jazz looked at Ironhide and offered a cheeky grin. "I found something more interesting," he said.

Ironhide watched him out of the corner of his optic. "Be straight with me," he said. "How much did you know about this bomb?"

Jazz let out a long sigh. "Guess we'll find out when that mech's memories come back," he said. "I hope I knew enough to at least get the security system up to par. If not... it's gonna be a scary couple of days."

"Tell me about it," Ironhide muttered. "Prime's talkin' a full evac. It's gonna be a nightmare. If this bomb is all a ruse, it's a slagging good one. Even if it doesn't exist, it's going to knock us off our game. It's already diverted a lot of plans."

Jazz ran a hand over his helm. "We've already lost the rest of Tarn... we've lost Charr too, no matter how much Magnus doesn't want to admit it. We need to fall back, regroup. We can't keep spreading our forces out to stay on the defensive," he said and shook his head. "But those are issues I let Prowl and his team deal with," he added with a lopsided grin. "Thinking too big-picture makes my head hurt."

Ironhide simply nodded. His optics were far away as he lost himself in thought before they drifted down to look at Ratchet once again. "What do you think we should do with him?" he asked.

Jazz chuckled. "Hire him, bribe him, whatever way you can to get him on our side," he said. "If that mech can pick me out as something unusual from my slagging _maintenance updates_ he's worth keeping around."

Ironhide smirked. "Found his statement a little interesting did ya? I'm guessing that's why yeh caught a lift from Iacon to come here?" he asked.

"It wasn't the only reason," he said, face carefully blank.

A silence stretched between them and Ironhide finally broke it with a scowl. "Fine, keep yer secrets," he said. "Just don't do anything stupid."

Jazz grinned. "I never do."


	20. Answers

Thanks to all the new story favorites, followers and reviews! You guys rock!

* * *

><p>Ratchet slowly drifted back to consciousness, optics powering on in a steady bootup that he hadn't truly experienced since before he'd started school in Praxus. He sighed and blinked, focusing his optics to take in the room around him. For a long moment, he was disoriented. Where was Spec yelling at him to wake up? Where were the noisy mechs of his barrack in Kaon? And then he caught sight of Rung, still hunched over Perceptor, and sighed in relief.<p>

He was safe.

Carefully, he sat up, though all manner of aches and pains felt substantially lessened from what he remembered. It was amazing what a real recharge could do. Stifling a yawn, he got to his feet and walked over to the berth. Perceptor was still in stasis and Rung was hooked deeply into his processor, his optics blue-white while his fingers tapped away at the console, tweaking and guiding the autorepair program.

Ratchet frowned and checked his chronometer. He had slept for a little over a full cycle, catching up on all of the sleep he had lost. As he looked at Rung, he could only hope that the mech had taken some time off from the task as well. He debated touching the mech's shoulder to get his attention, but he was afraid of jerking him out of his work too suddenly. Surprising someone when they were tinkering with someone's processor was always a bad idea.

Instead, he looked around the small office, trying to find an energon dispenser. He was near red on energon levels and was starting to feel sluggish because of it. The room was sparse. The desk and storage chest had all been pushed against the wall to make room for Perceptor's medberth to access the computer in the corner, while the cot he had slept on occupied the other wall. Needless to say, there was no room for an energon dispenser in the cramped space—in fact, he wasn't entirely sure how Ultra Magnus managed to fit comfortably.

With one last hesitant glance at Rung, he ducked out of the cramped doorway and into the network of tunnels that made up the base. He wasn't able to synch his GPS up to the base network without authorization, so he went blind, keeping track of which tunnels he took as best as he could. It wouldn't do to get lost and not be able to find his way back to Rung and Perceptor.

A murmur of voices echoed down the natural corridor and Ratchet followed the sound. He turned the corner and saw Ironhide walking with his back to Ratchet. Accompanying him was a mech he didn't recognize—or at least that's what he thought at first glance. The paint job was perfectly inverted, white where there used to be black and black where there used to be white, but in the split second where the two of them turned into a branching vein, Ratchet saw his face. A red visor had been replaced with a blue one, but that face, that self-assured smirk left him no doubt.

For a moment, Ratchet froze, and a jumble of thoughts and actions all fought for his attention, making his processor lag. One moment, he was taking a step, braced to run and the next, his fist was connecting with the side of Meister's very surprised face. Ratchet caught him before he could fall and slammed the mech against the wall of the metal vein, his rage boiling off of him in a visible heat that warped the air around him.

"You son of a glitch, WHERE IS HE?" he bellowed and Meister winced, his visor cracked and sparking.

Surprisingly, the mech didn't fight him and when Ironhide raised a gun and pointed it at Ratchet's helm, Meister held up a hand. "It's cool 'Hide. I owe him a couple answers," Meister said, his vocals cracking with static. "But ya gotta let me go first, Ratchet." One black hand rested on Ratchet's wrist, right over a sensitive plate that said he could make him if he didn't comply.

It took Ratchet a moment to push aside the anger enough to loosen his fingers from around the mech's neck, but no amount of willpower could stop his frame from rattling with barely repressed emotion. Meister reached up and felt the damage to his visor, fingers lightly tracing over the cracks before trailing down to touch the dent that had been left behind on his cheek. "I probably deserved that," he said lightly and winced before letting his hand drop again. He looked at Ironhide and said, "I'll catch up with you."

"Yeh serious?" Ironhide asked in disbelief.

Meister sighed. "Yeah, I'm serious. I'll find you," he said.

Ironhide still looked dubious, but kept his mouth shut. He cast one last glare at Ratchet before turning and heading back down the corridor, disappearing in a matter of moments in the darkened passage.

Meister looked back at Ratchet and sighed. "First things first, I'll appreciate you keepin' these tidbits I'm gonna share with yah to yourself. I'm breaking protocol just by talkin' to you."

"Who are you," Ratchet snapped, too impatient for roundabout explanations.

"My name's Jazz," he said. "I'm a Special Operatives agent. You don't need to know any more than that I _am_ an Autobot even if I don't wear the insignia."

"Special Operatives," Ratchet repeated. "Does that usually involve kidnapping sparklings?"

Jazz smirked. "Ain't usually in my job description, no. But aren't you glad I did? Bluestreak's safe. He's in Iacon and he's being taken care of. Would you have been able to do better in Kaon?"

Ratchet scowled. "Of course not," he snapped. "But for all I fragging knew, you were planning on selling him to slavery to make a quick credit! It seemed your style."

Jazz chuckled at that. "Mech, you don't even have a hint of what my style is," he said. "I may as well be a stranger to you for all you know about me. And it's best we keep it that way. The less you know about me, the safer you are."

Ratchet didn't share any of his humor, his dentals still bared angrily. "You kidnapped him and you left me," he snarled. "You left me there! If you're such an Autobot, how could you leave me there to be interrogated?"

Jazz sighed at that, a flash of remorse crossing his face. "I tried everything I could to avoid that for yah," he said. "With that collar, I couldn't take yah with me, no matter how badly I wanted to and believe me, I _wanted_ to. I told ya Bluestreak would be safe though- it's your own slagging fault you didn't believe me. The best I could do at the time was pin you with an emergency beacon so your medic friend could come get ya."

Ratchet opened his mouth to retort but he realized the mech was right. The fogged memories of that encounter were still no clearer to him, but that detail stood out. "You planted the emergency beacon?" he asked and Jazz nodded. He ran a hand over his helm, his helm aching as he tried to remember. "What... happened that day?" he asked.

Jazz grinned at that. "You don't remember? What's the last thing ya can recall?"

Ratchet gave him an odd look and thought back. "I... I remember seeing the Rust Sea, and I remember Bluestreak screaming," he said. "And... and that's it. Next thing I knew, I was back in Kaon and Spec was yelling at me."

Jazz whistled. "Slag, I clocked you good," he said, sounding far too proud of it. When Ratchet pegged him with another heated glare, he continued, "I hit you on your left posterior plate- directly related to sight and short term memory. I had hoped it had worked- slagging Trailbreaker popped up way quicker than I told him to. You weren't supposed to see him."

Ratchet frowned at the name, the inklings of a memory prickling at the back of his processor. He remembered what Rung had said about processors autorepairing corrupt memories in patches, and the stark image of the bright Autobot symbol resurfaced. The memory seemed to break through the veil- the impossible mech unfolding behind Jazz, the Autobot symbol that stood out on his chassis like a target, and the single word he had uttered before unconsciousness had claimed him.

"Oh slag... Trailbreaker's really alive?" Ratchet asked, optics wide.

Jazz grinned and nodded. "He just relocated to Polyhex," he said. "He told me about how he met yah. Shoulda taken that leap of faith, Ratchet. Would have saved you a lot of pain."

Ratchet's optics were wide as he stared at him, all of the memories piecing back together. "Primus..."

"If it means anything to ya... I really am sorry," Jazz said. "I didn't want to leave you behind, but there wasn't a way for me to bring yah along. Yah had that collar and I didn't have a way of taking it off without risking both of us. As much as I don't like it at times, my mission is more important than any one mech."

Ratchet nodded. It was a hard pill to swallow after harboring so much anger towards the mech, but now that he had the full story, it was a little easier to accept. "Where is Bluestreak now?" he asked.

"He's at a youngling center in Iacon," he said. "They're gonna be some of the first to be evacuated, due to the bomb threat. Probably to Polyhex."

"He really is safe then," Ratchet said and ran a hand over his helm.

Jazz nodded and when Ratchet fell silent, he said, "My turn."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. "What?"

"I need some questions answered," he said. "You said Soundwave interrogated you. I didn't think he'd get that paranoid—I leave a lot without telling him, but apparently I was wrong. What happened? And I need details, as many as you can remember."

Ratchet shuddered, the memories flooding back, unbidden. "I was on sick leave from where you'd hit me. You caused a short in my optical sensors and I had to wait until autorepair took care of it," he said. "I had gone down to engineering to find Wheeljack... and we started talking. We started talking about _you_," he said. "He was the one who helped me make the connection with your maintenance updates. And there was this... mech that must have been listening to us. This black thing, looked like some sort of turbo-cat."

Jazz swore. "Ravage," he muttered and a pained look crossed his face for just a moment. "So he overheard everything- everything about your speculations."

Ratchet nodded. "They've pegged you as a deserter and they're speculating that you may have possible Autobot loyalties—they saw all my memories about your maintenance updates. Megatron gave him the order to rip your processor apart and find out for certain if you came back to Kaon," he said. Jazz shifted from one foot to the other and Ratchet looked at him. "You aren't _planning_ on going back to Kaon, are you?"

Jazz didn't answer and Ratchet's optics widened. "Meis—Jazz, you _can't!_ That mech will tear you apart! You didn't hear them talking—whatever cover you had is blown."

A dangerous look slid over the mech's face, edges of his lips quirking up into a smirk. "Don't you worry about that," he said. "I got the story of my absence all laid out and I may as well have Soundwave in my subspace."

Ratchet swore quietly. "They knew your comm. was active—they tried hailing yo—"

"I know they did," Jazz interrupted. "And I told ya, I got a story laid out. Seriously, don't worry about me."

"What makes you so sure?" he asked.

Jazz grinned his mysterious grin. "Classified info, m'mech," he said. "Just know that that mech Soundwave will _never dare _hurt me, no matter what Megatron thinks." His tone sounded so assured, the expression on his face so certain that Ratcht was inclined to believe him. The medic pushed whatever remaining doubt he had aside. Like Jazz had said, he knew nothing of who this mech was. Maybe he was right.

"Seriously, Ratchet. I'll be fine," Jazz added with a wry grin. "Now, I'm scheduled to leave tomorrow and I'm not about to let a cheap shot by you stop me." He tapped the crack on his visor. "Think you can fix this?"

* * *

><p>"Great Autobot army my aft, can't even supply a proper medical facility," Ratchet ranted as he searched the multiple crates for anything he could use. Jazz leaned against one of the vacant berths, a grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. Ratchet could almost feel the mech's optics watching him, as well as a few of the medical staff that were on duty, but he ignored them all as he continued his rampage through their supplies.<p>

"Um… sir? Can I help you find something?" a voice asked. Ratchet looked up and recognized the femme that had helped him with Perceptor when he'd first come here.

"I need some sealant and a small welder—as fine as you have," he said before really registering what she had called him. "And don't call me sir."

The femme looked slightly puzzled. "What… should I call you?" she asked even as she went to one of the crates and pushed it open, grabbing the supplies he'd asked for.

"Just call me Ratchet," he said.

She handed over the bottle of sealant and the welder. "If you say so, Ratchet," she said with a shrug before retreating back towards the two other medibots that dawdled in the corner.

Ratchet heard their quiet whispers and had to ignore the strange discomfort of knowing they were talking about him. He walked over to Jazz and tapped the berth. "Sit," he said.

Jazz sighed but didn't protest. "You could get to know some of the mechs around here—especially the medical staff," he pointed out. "They could use your help."

"No slag," Ratchet muttered and finished setting up his supplies on the table next to the berth. "This camp is a disgrace. I've never seen such a poorly stocked and operated medical facility—wartime or not." He tapped Jazz's visor. "Does this come off? I want to take a closer look at what model you have."

Jazz sighed at that. "Yeah well… it's not their fault that Command's considering Charr a lost cause," he muttered. "Most of 'em are enlisted mechs that have been given basic medical training. Forcep over there—that femme you talked to is the closest they got to a trained EMT." Jazz reached up, fingers pressing against his visor, right near where it connected to his temples. He put pressure on either end, bending the stiff material of his visor just slightly so it snapped out of the ports in either side of his helm.

The visor lost power as soon as it was disconnected and went dark. Visors usually indicated that their wearer wanted extra visual sensors—night vision, infrared, some even had x-ray capabilities, mechs sometimes got them just to make their HUD easier to read, but as Jazz pulled the visor away from his face, he knew that wasn't the case with him. Seeing the mechs milky white optics revealed, Ratchet realized that the mech was blind without it.

Jazz's entire demeanor shifted and without his visor to hide his face, Ratchet realized that he was young—closer to Perceptor's age than his own. The black and white mech hunched a bit closer against the med berth and kept his helm lowered, right side quirked towards Ratchet as though he was listening to every move he made as he held out the visor to him. "Ya can stop acting so surprised now," Jazz muttered.

Ratchet took the visor and looked away, though a part of him knew Jazz wouldn't be able to see him do it. "I'm sorry—I just didn't realize—"

"Few do and I want to keep it that way," Jazz said. "It's a programming glitch—I've always been like this. My optical feeds don't connect to anything. My visor gives me a sort of live feed, patched directly into my processor. I don't _see_ like you do, but I've come to realize that y'all miss a lot when you're just paying attention with your optics. My hearing's better'n any mech I've ever met and it's saved me more times than my sight has."

Ratchet looked back up at the mech and realized that even without his visor, he knew exactly where everyone was. As one of the medibots walked the perimeter of the room, the tilt of Jazz's head followed him, tracking his progress with his audios as one might with their sight. "That's incredible," Ratchet said, his fascination evident. "Programming glitches are… incredibly rare. One in a million, at least." As he looked at the visor his hopes sank. "It also means that I've never seen a visor like this before. I'm not sure if I can fix this."

Jazz rubbed his blind optics. "Can yah try?" he asked. "I got a spare, but those things ain't cheap and they're getting' harder and harder to order."

Ratchet sighed and looked at the strip, wishing so badly that Wheeljack was here. He could fix it in no time, no matter what sort of technology he was looking at. Ignoring the onset of guilt and sorrow, he examined the damage he had done. "Was it shorting out at all when you were wearing it?" he asked.

Jazz shook his head. "Nah, just noticed a jump in the feed where the cracks are," he said.

Ratchet hmmed thoughtfully. It didn't seem like he'd done any damage to the inner workings of the visor, simply cracked the protective cover. "I'm going to try and put some sealant on it- we'll see if that patches the feed," he said.

Jazz's head jerked up in surprise. "Hold on there, Ratch," he says.

Ratchet looked around the medbay warily. "What?"

"I think your friend just woke up," he said.

Ratchet frowned. Perceptor was in a completely different room from them. "How can you tell?"

Jazz tapped his audio. "I just heard him scream."


	21. Awake

Apologies for taking so long! I still don't like how this chapter came out, but I'm tired of sitting on it. Enjoy and tell me what you think!

* * *

><p>Between his residency in Praxus and his time in Kaon, Ratchet felt like he had a good range of experience with many strange and dangerous situations. He'd worked with drug addicts, crazed mechs, sociopaths – and every one had left him with a heightened awareness and better adaptability to the next strange and dangerous situation that arose. But this… this was way out of his league.<p>

Perceptor stood huddled in the corner, back against the wall. His optics were bright and dazed, as though he wasn't quite fully conscious yet. His focus darted from Ironhide to Ultra Magnus fearfully, vents chuttering as they worked overtime to cool him down. His arms were wrapped tightly around Rung and it only took Ratchet a moment to see the glint of a laser scalpel held tightly in one hand. It was pressed against the psy-ops mech's neck, right in-between his armor plates and resting across an important energon line. The orange mech stood very still, and though his mouth was moving, Ratchet couldn't hear what he was saying over the raised voices of Ironhide and Ultra Magnus.

Ratchet squeezed into the too-small room, leaving Jazz in the hall. He pushed past Ironhide who, for once, didn't complain and came to stand as close to his friend as he dared. Perceptor's head swiveled to look at him and the two mechs behind him fell quiet.

"It's okay Perceptor, you're safe," Rung was saying, his quiet voice finally registering to Ratchet's audios. The laser scalpel at his neck pressed a little closer and Rung's voice faltered, optics brightening with barely contained panic as he looked pleadingly at Ratchet.

Ratchet swallowed. "Perceptor, look at me," he said quietly. The mech's fearful optics slowly focused on him and his hand started to shake. "We're in the Autobot camp. We're in Charr, remember? They found us in the tunnels and brought us here. We're safe here."

Perceptor's face twisted and something between and sob and a laugh broke from his vocals. Ratchet winced at the harsh noise. "Safe?" he repeated incredulously.

Ratchet nodded and took a tentative step forward. "Percy—"

"Don't CALL me that!" he barked and Ratchet jumped at the hostile shift. Perceptor tightened his grip on Rung and the slim mech's vents hitched. One arm flew up to try and stop Perceptor's hand as he pressed a little closer to his neck, drawing a thin line of a cut. Ratchet stopped dead in his tracks, dentals clenched. Perceptor's vents sputtered, hitching over the ragged breaths he drew through them. "He called me that- don't_ ever_ call me that."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded. "Okay- I won't, I promise," he said quietly. "Perceptor, I promise you, no one is going to hurt you. They'll have to get through me first and I'll be damned if I'm letting anyone _scratch_ you after all the work I've put into getting you here," he said, realizing his own voice was shaking.

A small hiccup of a laugh broke from Perceptor's vocals, though it had a hysteric edge, like Perceptor was hanging onto his thoughts by a mere thread. His optics went out of focus, his grip loosening a little. "You wiped my memories. You didn't tell me—you let me believe it was because of an injury. You lied to me," he said, sounding almost fascinated as the pieces started to connect. A strange shiver wracked his system, his optics darkening and focusing again. When he looked at Ratchet, his optics were clear and alert. "Why?"

Ratchet ran a hand over his helm, swearing under his breath. "You couldn't live with them," he said. "Perce, you drank liquid helium!"

Another strange shiver ran up the mech's back, making his armor plates rattle with its intensity. His optics went out of focus again, a quiet groan escaping him. "I wanted to die," he said, his voice eerily hollow. "It was my choice to make, not yours."

Ultra Magnus took a small step forward and Perceptor tensed, his optics focusing sharply on him. "There is more at stake here than you can imagine—more at stake than _any_ one mech," the Magnus said. "Now that your memories have been restored, you of all mechs should realize that. Iacon is in the crosshairs of a weapon we known next to nothing about and _you _are the only mech with enough information to even have a hope of stopping it."

Perceptor looked at mech for a long moment, his face morphing from disdain to slow, dawning comprehension. Ratchet felt like he was watching a drowning mech—the expression on his face was like he was slipping underwater and realizing the surface was just too far away. Slowly, his grip on Rung loosened, laser scalpel sliding out of his hand and clattering to the ground. The psy-ops mech rubbed his neck as he turned to face him, holding his hand over the small cut. Ratchet noticed him discreetly kick the scalpel under the berth and out of reach.

"What can I do?" Perceptor asked. He sounded like a lost youngling and Ratchet could tell he was overwhelmed. His processor was undoubtedly battling to reconcile the recently repaired memories and he could only imagine how it must feel to have that floodgate opened. The haunted look on his face told that it was far from pleasant. Ratchet slowly stepped forward and put a hand on Perceptor's helm, wincing at the heat that emanated from him.

"Right now, you need to rest," he said. "Once your temperature is down, then we can worry about what comes next."

Behind him, Ironhide made a sound like he was about to protest, but Rung cleared his throat loudly and shook his head. Fortunately, the red mech seemed to take the hint and closed his mouth, though Ratchet noticed his fingers drumming against his arm anxiously. Fear hung heavy over all of them, settling like a fog that clung thickly to their armor.

Eight days were all they had, and the clock was running far too quickly.

* * *

><p>Ratchet finished sealing the small cut on Rung's neck and glanced over at the recharging Perceptor. It had taken a light sedative to get him to relax enough to sleep, but now he recharged peacefully, face slack with exhaustion. Jazz had disappeared, now that the danger had passed, while Ultra Magnus and Ironhide talked in quiet voices just outside of the room. Ratchet ignored them, double checking the seal on the energon line.<p>

"Do you really think you can help him?" he asked after a long moment.

Rung looked at him and Ratchet had to wonder if that kind smile perpetually stayed on his face, no matter what the situation. "I'll do everything I can," he said. "He has a long road ahead of him, but I think I can assist him through the worst of it."

Ratchet nodded and glanced sadly at his friend. "He didn't cut too deep—just a nick," he said.

Rung nodded. "Thank you, Ratchet," he said quietly. The psy-ops mech reached up, running a hand over the newly sealed line. "Have you given any consideration to what you will do?" he asked after a moment.

Ratchet paused as he cleaned his laser scalpel. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You're a free mech again," he said. "You have your choice to go wherever you please. In fact, I think Ultra Magnus would be willing to provide a transport for you with the next drop ship. It could take you out of the war zone—perhaps to Nova Cronum or Polyhex?"

Ratchet stilled his hands, optics bright as he looked unseeingly at the tool in his grip. Getting out of Kaon had absorbed his thoughts for so long that now that he had done it, he wasn't sure what to do. His processor wandered from the ill-equipped medbay to his family in Iacon to Wheeljack, still trapped in Kaon. His optics slowly travelled back to Perceptor and he swallowed, too many ideas tumbling through his processor.

"I… I'm not sure," he said at last and stored his scalpel with his other tools.

Rung put a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but Ironhide cut him off. "You—" he said, pointing at Ratchet through the cramped door. "Come with me."

Ratchet looked at Rung uncertainly, but the orange mech just smiled and nodded. Reluctantly, Ratchet ducked out of the room catch up with Ironhide as he headed off down the hall. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, the red mech said, "I want to show you something."

Something about his tone stopped Ratchet from asking any questions. Instead, he followed the warrior through the sinuous veins of the base, silent other than the thuds of their footsteps. They moved out of familiar territory and after passing a couple of guards, Ratchet started to think they were no longer within the parameters of the base. He could hear the distant rumbling of the battle and swallowed before finally gathering the nerve to speak.

"Where are we going?"

Ironhide glanced at him, face unreadable. "Just follow me," he said and transformed, revealing a blocky alt-mode similar to his own. Ratchet hesitated for only a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. He transformed and kicked into gear to catch up with the red mech. In the narrow passages of Charr, he followed close behind, mere feet away from the mech's bumper.

They drove for nearly five breems, making their careful way through the tunnels. All the while, the sound of the fight got closer, the noise rattling the surface above them. Ratchet's unease slowly grew—what did he know about this mech? Where could he be taking him? For a moment, he debated stopping and heading back, but would he be able to find his way to the base, to Perceptor again without a guide? His mind flashed back to the mechs that had chased him in the tunnels and he wondered how many more lurked in the narrow paths under the planet's crust. His mind settled on the unfortunate Autobot that had surprised him into pulling the trigger and the familiar guilt trickled into his mind.

They hit an incline and above then, the ground opened up above them. For the first time in days, Ratchet saw sunlight. Ironhide transformed just as the ground opened up above them, walking into the mid-day glow. Ratchet transformed, shuttering his optics a couple of times as the combined strength of Cybertron's suns hit him. Even though his chronometer was able to tell him exactly what time it was, the light was almost a surprise. It took him a long moment to adjust to the sensory input, but as his vision cleared, he realized they weren't alone.

While the dried vein stood tall where they had emerged, it shortened the further it stretched. Ducked into the makeshift trench were a line of mechs, all haggard, dirty and exhausted, pressed against the walls of the veins, only daring to peer over the edge to loose off a few shots. One mech raised his head up just a little too far and sparks flew as a shot ricocheted off of his shoulder, missing his head by mere inches. He swore and quickly ducked back down even as his comrades laughed hollowly, though it sounded more like relief than anything.

Overhead, a strange whistling sounded and one of the mechs let out a shout of warning. Instantly, like it was rehearsed, Ironhide was on him, pressing him against the wall of the vein, arms on either side of him as the air around them seemed to explode. Ratchet swore, his hands clamped over his helm as the explosion whistled over them, making his entire frame shudder as the shockwave rained down on them. Over the ringing of his audios, he could hear the _thunk thunk thunk _of debris and shrapnel as it rained down, covering the trench with a shining coat of metal dust.

Ironhide slowly relaxed and pulled away from him, picking a chunk of shrapnel from where it had embedded itself in his shoulder. Ratchet opened his mouth to protest, medical protocols already kicking in, but Ironhide grabbed the piece and pulled it out, tossing it away like it was a splinter. Ratchet looked at the gash on his shoulder and realized that it had barely gone deeper than his paint layer.

The red mech smirked. "I got my name for a reason," he said.

A call went up from the mechs down the trench and Ratchet watched them brush off the dust and gather themselves like the professionals they were. All the calls rang clear, and Ratchet could only guess that no one had been hurt by whatever had caused the explosion. He coughed the metallic dust from his vents, sending glittering whorls into the air in front of him. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked. "I'm not a soldier."

Ironhide's grin took on a rather bitter edge. "No, you sure ain't," he said, watching the entrenched mechs with a keen optic. "But we don't necessarily need soldiers." He pointedly looked behind him, back down the tunnel they had emerged from. "Remember how long it took us to get here? Since the battle began in Charr, the front lines have migrated. The terrain is rough getting here—above ground isn't an option and the Decepticons have taken to targeting any medibots they see. We've got a couple out here and we trade them out, but they don't have the training to deal with what we're experiencing out here. Not to mention, the terrain doesn't make repairs easy. Half the time, our medbots can't even_ reach _the mech before it's too late."

Ratchet looked over the soldiers and saw the resignation on their faces. They knew that the chances of them leaving this place were slim. "Why doesn't command pull them out?" he asked helplessly.

Ironhide sighed. "It's… a combination of things," he said. "Biggest one bein' Charr is the barrier between Kaon and Protihex. If we abandon Charr, we abandon Protihex and its manufacturing and energon plants to the Cons. It wouldn't take them much time to start those plants manufacturing parts for their repairs. Kaon and Tarn both have limited manufacturing capabilities, an' their stolen stores and intercepted shipments can only last 'em so long."

Ratchet shuddered, thinking of the grim store rooms in Kaon. "They wouldn't use them to manufacture parts—they have that covered," he said quietly. "They're cannibalizing parts from corpses."

Ironhide looked at him and Ratchet was slightly pleased that he was able to visibly shake the mech. "Primus," he murmured and ran a hand over his red crest. "Well then I'd guess they would switch them over to weapons manufacturing— we both know they're capable of it. Even without a plant giving them a steady supply, they seem to be spitting out new ways for us all to kill each other just fine."

Ratchet glanced at the mech, seeing the weariness that was etched into every scar and scratch on his face. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked again, though he had an idea.

Ironhide looked at him, lips pulled down into a frown. "I wanted you to see what we're dealing with here," he said and gave a small shrug, swallowing his pride. "And realize _why_ I'm asking you to stay. For their sake," he said and nodded to the mechs below.

Ratchet let out a long sigh, crossing his arms over his chassis. He was being given a _choice_. For the first time since Praxus, he could choose what his future would be—he could escape to Polyhex or Nova Cronum. He could be done with this war forever—leave it for the soldiers and politicians to handle once again.

Unbidden, the thought of the mech in the tunnels—Backdraft had been his name. Never before had he taken a life, and here was the mech's comrade, maybe even his friend standing here and asking him for his help to save the others that were stuck here. It felt like a disservice to say no, an affront to his memory. A large part of him felt like he needed to atone.

He thought of the medbay and the staff, the broken terrain around them. He thought of the Decepticon convoy system and knew it wouldn't work here, but already, a different plant was starting to form and with it, a strange sort of excitement started to grow. He could _help_ here. After the monotony, the endless barrage of death and pain that had been Kaon, it felt like waking up for the first time in a long, long while. He could make adifference. He could save _lives._ What other choice could he make?

"Alright," he said at last, optics bright with a renewed fervor that hadn't been seen since Praxus. "I'll stay."


	22. Convictions

When Ratchet walked into the medbay with Ironhide at his back, the collected medical staff froze, all of them looking like the proverbial turbofox in the road. Ratchet sighed as he looked around, processor jumping from idea to idea as he surveyed what he had to work with. One of the staff moved, taking a tentative step towards him and breaking him out of his thoughts. It was the femme, Forcep, the one Jazz had told him about.

"Is there... something we can help you with, sir?" she asked.

Ratchet scowled. "I told you not to call me sir. I'm a doctor, not some military bot," he said and Ironhide's engine rumbled behind him in barely contained annoyance. He turned to the red mech and said, "And just because I'm helping your sorry operation out doesn't mean I'm joining it, got it? Call me a civilian professional if you want to, I'm _not_ a slagging Autobot."

Ironhide's optics narrowed slightly. "Mech, you haven't earned that honor," he rumbled, but Ratchet largely ignored him, even though his armor plates clanked quietly, bristling at the sleight.

Forcep's lips quirked up in barely contained amusement before she straightened her features out. "Is there something I can help you with, Ratchet?" she amended.

Ratchet walked over to the line of crated supplies, looking over the unorganized stacks. His optics went out of focus as he thought, one finger idly tapping against his chin. After a long moment, he pointed to the stacks and said, "I want a full list of your inventory and recruit some strong bodies to help move this."

* * *

><p>Despite the various short-comings of the medical facilities and its staff, Ratchet learned that following orders wasn't one of them. All six mechs that were currently on duty and not aiding one of the three injured soldier in the bay jumped to help, obeying his every order to the syllable. Delegating the work between them, he had them sorting out essential supply kits; laser scalpels, tubing, patches, line clamps, med-grade energon, coolant and hydraulic fuels- basic supplies for quick or temporary repairs. He helped the mechs stack the kits on the far side of the medbay for now, though they wouldn't stay there for long if he had anything to say about it.<p>

He managed to catch all of the medical staff right as the shifts changed. In total, they had 23 mechs, not including himself, all of which had at least basic medical training, while only five were of a higher qualification. Ratchet soon learned that "basic" meant just that- they knew how to seal a line and slap a patch over an injury, but with more than 450 Autobots in Charr, almost 100 of which were directly on the front lines and getting hit the hardest, it was not nearly enough. Apparently, there were two other mechs in the trenches- mechs that actually _had_ their stripes, but Ratchet had yet to see them.

"Alright mechs, listen up!" Ironhide bellowed, turning the head of every medbot in the bay. "This is Ratchet. He's deigned to help out our cause here, so I want yeh to give him the same attention and respect you'd give me."

A chorus of "yes sir"s echoed in the small room and Ratchet winced slightly at the racket. Ironhide looked at him expectantly and he realized that he was supposed to say something, and with 23 plus Ironhide staring at him, he suddenly felt like a spotlight had been flashed on. He blinked as he looked at the red mech, even as a small smirk spread across Ironhide's face. That more than anything snapped him out of his momentary stage fright and he stubbornly turned his optics to the group of mechs before him.

"Okay," Ratchet said through a sigh. "Here's the plan." He pointed over towards the neatly stacked supplies. "Earlier today, we gathered these med kits. They contain basic supplies for quick fixes, temporary repairs and emergency stabilizations. Now... we just need to train you how to use them."

He paused to gather his thoughts and heard a quiet scoff from one of the mechs in the back. His optics sharpened as he looked towards the group, trying to pinpoint who it had been. The last of his nervousness evaporated like condensation on a hot day. "You think this is a joke?" he asked. The medbay fell silent, and when he spoke again, his voice cut through the quiet like a knife. "Or maybe you think you know it all?" He gives a short, humorless laugh. "Do you think your higher ups would have asked a civilian to come here to _train_ your sorry afts if they didn't think you needed it?" He shook his head as he looked at the group of mechs, seeing that none of them were scoffing now. "Who's in charge here?" he asked.

Ironhide cleared his throat. "Traction, our last Chief Medical Officer, was killed five days ago," he said. "His second was killed the day after. The chain of command was broken- Ultra Magnus hasn't had the time to assess a proper replacement."

Ratchet snorted. "Well, I'll save him the trouble," he said and looked over the group. "Who can tell me how long it should take to administer an energon flush to a mech with severe shrapnel damage?"

The wide-opticked expression was one he had seen many times before, during his residency, and he had to admit that he felt a strange satisfaction of being the one to _cause_ that panic for once, instead of just experiencing it. For a long moment, none of the mechs moved. Ratchet didn't offer them a thing except to drum his fingers with growing impatience against his arm. Finally, one mech's hand slid into the air, up in the back.

"What's your name?" Ratchet asked as he pointed to him.

"Rift, sir," the mech said and Ratchet rolled his optics at the honorific. "A proper energon flush shouldn't take longer than a breem. Any longer and you risk a system shut down from lack of fuel."

"Correct- at least partially. Who can tell me what he's missing?" Ratchet asked.

Tentatively, Forcep raised her hand. "The shrapnel damage factor," she said quietly. "There's a risk of cut lines and cross-contamination of fluids. You need to do a thorough scan before you start the flush to be sure there are no major leaks. Hypothetically, the overall process takes longer, though the flush still shouldn't last more than a breem."

Ratchet nodded, a small grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Good," he said before looking at the group again. "Now, you come across a mech who's seizing, has a visible laser round through his chassis- what do you do first?"

For the most part, the mechs avoided his optics, staring at the ground rather than at him, but Forcep's hand shot up once again. "Check for a spark casing breach- the fluctuating energy from a cracked or scorched spark casing could be causing the seizures. If the spark casing's intact, search for head trauma from when the mech fell."

Ratchet nodded. Jazz had been right about her- she knew her stuff better than the rest of these so-called medics. "Good," he says and points at Forcep. "You're in charge. You're going to help me train the rest of these mechs."

Forcep looked like she had suddenly swallowed a cog, optics wide and expression slightly sick. Behind him, he heard Ironhide's quiet chuckle. He turned to look at the red mech, seeing something like respect on the red mech's face. "Ironhide, I need a favor."

* * *

><p>"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"<p>

Ratchet disabled his audios, feeling the sound wave of the explosion rock through his frame. He unshuttered his optics to particles and dust floating everywhere and coughed the residue from his vents. He cautiously turned his audios on again and stepped forward, waving dust out of his face as best as he could.

"Structural integrity's intact- the ground's holding up and we're just far enough underground that any artillery won't be able to hit us unless it packs a helluva punch... Primus, this might actually work," Ironhide said as he looked at the hole they had created. Ratchet cautiously looked through the hole, having to stand a little higher on his pedes to be able to reach it. It _was_ big enough to fit a good sized mech and the hole opened up directly into the front lines, hidden near the bottom of the trench. If this worked right, the travel time would be cut down from breems to mere kliks, and when it came to battle injuries, time was a worse enemy than the Cons shooting at them.

Currently, Ratchet, Ironhide and a demolitions mech named Hardhat were just below the front lines, tucked into another vein that ran concurrently with the one above. After searching until late into the afternoon, they'd finally managed to find a small crack in the wall- enough to discover that the connecting vein ran just below the front lines. They'd had to blow a hole to actually make it accessible, but the vein was big, comparable to some of the ones he and Perceptor had traveled through before the Autobots found them.

Ratchet's optics were bright as he walked down the echoing path. "Alright," he said. "I want to find where this branches off- as long as this tunnel runs along the front lines, I want holes like that blown every 100-150 steps- however often we can manage without fragging with the structural integrity. These things are solid metal—but you know more about that sort of stuff than I do," he said and Hardhat chuckled. "As soon as this tunnel starts to branch too far, as soon as it's too big of a space for us to blast through, I want a barricade set up. Primus knows there's enough scrap lying around for us to use it, and the last thing we need is someone sneaking through the tunnels and finding us here."

Ironhide looked at the hole, the late sun shining through and making his armor gleam. "How are you going to get injured mechs down here?" he asked.

Ratchet grinned at that. "Got some thick sheet metal?"

* * *

><p>Ironhide looked at the setup in disbelief, a quiet whistle escaping him. Hardhat had been busy, blowing holes through into the front trench, giving warning pings and coordinates to the soldiers above. Ratchet had recruited a few mechs to weld down big pieces of scrap metal into smooth ramps before having them welded to the metal walls of the vein, just below the newly-made holes.<p>

"This is the most rigged slag of a setup I've ever seen," Ironhide said.

Ratchet decided to take that as a compliment. "But it'll work," he pointed out. "We can go up the ramps, grab injured mechs and bring them to safety for repairs. We'll only be spending moments up there, we'll have as close to a sterile environment as we can manage and we'll have _space_. We won't be tripping up soldiers and we'll have the room and the supplies to patch mechs up or stabilize them enough to be loaded onto a convoy and taken back to base for further repairs."

Ironhide nodded as he listened to him. "It'll work," he says. "I'll find some of our bigger mechs to serve as the convoy and we'll get the barricade set up. We should be good to go by sundown."

Ratchet nodded through his yawn, vents letting out a long exhale. Ironhide gave him a look. "You don't need to be here for this- they can finish up without you," he said.

Ratchet shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Ironhide grabbed his hand, pulling out a hookup from his wrist. Ratchet jumped and halfheartedly tried to pull away. "What are you doing?"

Ironhide just ignored him and plugged into the port on his wrist. A request popped up on his HUD and Ratchet scowled, glaring at the red mech. His medical overrides didn't detect anything malicious and after spending a long day of work with Ironhide, he didn't really suspect him of foul play.

"Just open th' darn thing," Ironhide muttered.

Ratchet scowled before doing as he was asked. Automatically, the program ran and with a quick burst of data, his GPS was given permissions to synch up to the base's system. "Oh," he said in surprise.

Ironhide snorted, though it sounded slightly amused. "Yeah, 'oh.' Last thing we need is you gettin' lost in the tunnels tryin' to get back to base from here." A red dot appeared on Ratchet's HUD. "We're here," Ironhide said. A red line scrolled out from the dot, weaving its way through the tunnels. "Follow that route and you'll make it back to base. At _least_ go get some energon and take a break. Go check on yer friend if yeh need an excuse."

Ratchet had half a mind to protest, but the thought of Perceptor stopped him. He checked his chronometer and realized it had been nearly a full day since he'd had a chance to check on his friend. "I... yeah, that's a good idea," he said at last.

"Also, Jazz had teh leave earlier today- he wanted me to say he's sorry that he didn't have a chance to say goodbye," Ironhide added, though Ratchet could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

"Thanks," he said and looked at the mech hesitantly.

Ironhide crossed his arms over his chassis. "And I wanted to... thank you. For agreeing to help," he said at last. "After Rung went over your friends memories, he vouched for the both of yeh. He's trying to respect his privacy as much as he can, but he told me enough teh know that you two are both strictly non-affiliated. And we- _I_ appreciate you trusting us with the information yeh did."

Ratchet swallowed and rubbed the back of his helm. "You're welcome," he said quietly, not knowing what else to say. Having Ironhide thank him was strange enough- it had obviously taken a bit of pride swallowing on his part to be able to do it. He realized there was something else he wanted to say and before he'd really given himself permission to talk, it was spilling out. "Ironhide, I'm so sorry about Backdraft- I-I panicked. I didn't even realize that he was there until-"

Ironhide held up a hand to stop him, his face serious. "Kid, Backdraft was a soldier. He knew his duty and he knew the risks that came along with it." He sighed quietly. "We all do."

Something about the way he said it, the weight behind his words made Ratchet pause. He studied the red mech and realized that the mech not only knew exactly how he would leave this world, but he was prepared for it every time he came out of recharge. He was a solider, and until now, Ratchet had never understood what that really meant.

It meant putting your duty above yourself, no matter what the cost.

Ironhide clapped him on the shoulder before heading off into the vein, his voice booming out over the sounds of the battle above. Ratchet watched him go, doubting he was capable of that sort of dedication. He was devoted to his profession and the people he served, but as he heard another explosion tear through the sky above, he doubted he could ever believe in a cause with such conviction as Ironhide did—enough conviction to be _okay_ with the fact that your cause would eventually claim your life. In a world where things could change so quickly- where cities could be destroyed in a night and terrible things could happen to good mechs, how could _anyone_ find that such conviction?

Ratchet sighed and ran a hand over his helm, turning towards the black maw of the tunnels. As he stepped back into the darkness, he pushed the thoughts aside. It was no use thinking of loyalties, of convictions when he held none but to his friends who remained broken and scattered still. Until they were safe, he couldn't begin to think of where his loyalties could lie.


	23. Primus Sent

I think I said something about sporadic updating schedules? Yeah, that's very true. Enjoy! I certainly did :D

* * *

><p>After futilely searching for Perceptor for nearly three breems, he finally managed to track down Rung lingering around the medbay. Apparently, the mech had gotten word of Ratchet's rampage and was helping some of the medical staff organize themselves and their supplies. When Ratchet caught up to him, the psy-ops mech looked at him with his overly bright optics and Ratchet envied how serene he seemed amongst such chaos.<p>

"He's above ground," Rung said and held up his hands at the shocked look on Ratchet's face. "He's safe- he has an escort. He just needed to get some fresh air and some time alone."

Ratchet didn't waste any time heading to where Rung directed. He found a ladder leading up to the ground, and was glad to find that his GPS said it was long gone from the front lines. He emerged into the dying sunlight and found two mechs standing in a waist high rift in the metal, talking quietly. They both turned towards him as he clamored up the ladder.

"Where's Perceptor?" he asked, realizing he recognized one of the mechs- it was one of the quiet ones from the medbay. Of all the mechs to trust with a mentally unstable patient, not one in Charr's medbay held up to his standards.

The medbot stood a little straighter. "Just down the way, sir," he said. "We set up a target for him to take a few shots at."

Ratchet's optics brightened in shock, his mouth dropping open slightly. "You gave him a _weapon?_" he asked, dumbfounded. The medbot didn't have a chance to answer. A gunshot echoing over the uneven field stopped him mid word and Ratchet didn't pause to wait for the rest of his excuse before sprinting towards the source. Panic filled his frame like poison and it only seemed to grow, slowing him down as he saw Perceptor lying flat against the ground, helm lying against a slightly raised ridge on the ground.

He was so convinced, so certain that something terrible had happened, that when Perceptor turned and lifted his head to look at him, he tripped over an uneven piece of ground, sprawling out just a few feet from the mech. Perceptor relaxed the grip he had on the rifle in his hands, pulling his optic away from the scope to look at Ratchet. "Are you alright?" he asked mildly.

Ratchet stared at him for a long moment before slowly pushing himself up. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, sounding dazed and relieved even to his own audios. He stayed sitting, not sure he would be able to stand without his legs shaking as relief washed through him. "Are _you_ alright?"

Perceptor shrugged and turned his attention back to the scope of the rifle. He tweaked the settings and it wasn't until Ratchet looked a little closer that he saw a small calibrator hooked into Perceptor's wrist, telling him the wind direction and speed on top of other elemental conditions.

"What... what are you doing up here?" Ratchet asked and jumped as Perceptor's finger tightened on the trigger, loosing off a shot with a quiet snap. The gun in his arms jumped and he reached behind him, grabbing a pair of binoculars.

"Check my aim," he said and handed the device to Ratchet.

Ratchet frowned and took the binoculars, hooking them up to his optics. He zoomed in, finally catching sight of the target that Perceptor was shooting for. He winced slightly, seeing that a stock picture of Landslide had been printed out and pasted onto the thick target. Perceptor's shot had penetrated right through the mech's cheek.

"Where on Cybertron did you learn to shoot?" Ratchet asked and set the binoculars down.

Perceptor shrugged again. "Rung said I should find a way to vent my anger," he said. "I decided that this would be suitable. Turns out I'm rather good at it." He pulled the hammer back, popping out an empty shell, before reloading and leaning in and taking his aim again. He steadied his breathing, taking a few deep breaths before exhaling, long and slow. His finger tightened around the trigger, popping off another shot.

Ratchet curiously grabbed the binoculars again and saw that this shot had made it straight through the picture's optic. "I'd say that's a bit of an understatement," he muttered.

Perceptor let out a quiet huff through his vents and checked his aim through his scope. The silence stretched out between them and Ratchet cast uncertain looks at his friend, watching him loose shot after shot until the picture in the distance was little more than tatters. He opened his mouth a few times to speak, but nothing came out.

Perceptor was the one who finally broke the silence. "Why did you come up here?" he asked, finally setting his gun to the side and unclasping the targeting device from over his optic. When he looked at Ratchet, his expression was completely devoid of emotion.

"I," Ratchet started before closing his mouth uncertainly. "I wanted to check on you. See how you were doing."

"How do you think I'm doing?" Perceptor asked and picked up the binoculars. Ratchet couldn't see what he was staring it, but a part of him knew he was intently focused on every hole in Landslide's picture.

Ratchet swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Perceptor, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know what else to do. You were... you were scary," he admitted. "I've never seen you look like that before, like you were just... dead inside." Perceptor kept his optics against the binoculars, but Ratchet could see how his jaw clenched. "I just wanted to get you out of there. That was the only way I could figure out how to do it."

Perceptor finally set the binoculars down. "You corrupted my memories," he said. "You invaded my processor, viewed the most humiliating, degrading and damning moments of my life and corrupted them so I didn't have access to process them. You _altered_ me against my will."

Ratchet lowered his head, looking at the ground. He simply nodded. His guilt was absolute- what else could he say?

"I can't forgive you for that," Perceptor said.

Ratchet let out a long breath, trying to keep his system steady even though he felt like he'd been stabbed. All the air whoosed out of his vents in a long huff and he didn't seem able to draw in another breath. He sat in the silence, trying to keep his vents from sputtering. What else had he expected?

Perceptor slowly got to his feet, grabbing his rifle and equipment as he did. "I'm joining the Autobots," he said.

Ratchet felt like he had heard it over a long distance and looked up at the mech, not quite processing what he had said. "You what?" he asked.

"I'm joining the Autobots," he repeated. "They could use a mech like me. With seven days left until Landslide's masterpiece goes off, they _need_ a mech like me." He checked to be sure the safety was on before slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "And if anyone is going to give the Decepticons and Landslide the end they deserve, it's the Autobots."

Ratchet slowly got to his feet, his shock evident on his face. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Perceptor looked at him levelly. "I've never been more certain about anything in my entire life."

Ratchet swallowed as he looked at him. A part of him knew there was nothing he could say to make this right, nothing he could do to fix this. "Perceptor... we can still leave here. We can go to Polyhex or Nova Cronum. We can escape all this."

Perceptor watched him get to his feet, the expression on his face a mix of sorrow and pity. "Maybe you can," he said quietly. "There's no escape for me. Not anymore."

Ratchet's engine sputtered as he looked at his friend, studied his face for any sign of the familiar mech he had known in Praxus, but Perceptor looked like he had aged vorns in a short period of time. His normally bright blue optics were dull and tired, hiding a deep pain that seemed to reach throughout his entire frame, echoes of far too many bad memories. This was not the same mech he had known and a part of him realized that that mech was gone, even if he wanted nothing more than to be wrong.

"I just want you to be safe," Ratchet said.

Perceptor offered a small smile, a halfhearted quirk of his lips. "I will be," he promised. He shouldered his rifle and turned, walking back towards the ladder and his two escorts. "You saved my life, Ratchet... I won't forget that."

Ratchet looked up, optics wide, but Perceptor had already ducked down the ladder, back into the claustrophobic depths of the base. He let out a long sigh and turned his gaze towards the distance, seeing the lights of the battle eternally lighting the horizon. The sunlight had long since disappeared, and the glow of Cybertron's moons were dim, their crescents just barely cresting the horizon.

Ratchet sat and draped his arms around his knees, feeling a small kindling of hope in his chassis, trying to press through his sorrow. He stayed above ground for a while longer, watching the ebb and flow of lights that flashed and morphed like some aberrant aurora borealis. His optics slowly slid out of focus and he hovered somewhere between recharge and awake, letting the night envelop him.

It took him a long moment to register it and even when he did, it was almost over- a fiery column that stretched out hellish fingers into the air, grasping and clawing into the lower atmosphere. He watched with wide optics as the fiery hands reached their limit before curling into whorls of smoke that blackened the sky in the distance. His protocols kicked in like a slap to the back of his helm and he shot to his feet, rushing down the ladder and back into the tunnels, thoughts focused on nothing else but the mechs on the front lines.

* * *

><p>"What the holy slag was that?" Ratchet choked out as he stumbled into the medic's tunnel. He'd driven through the tunnels so quickly he felt as though he'd shaken something loose and his vents were whirring at full capacity yet they still barely managed to keep his system from overheating. As he reached the medic's tunnel, he found that a few of the staff was there and the number of injured mechs below was... surprisingly low judging by what he had just witnessed. There were a few mechs being treated with light shrapnel damage and a mech who looked like he had had a chunk of his shoulder blown off, but no heat damage, no burns.<p>

Ironhide looked happier than Ratchet had ever seen him. "That was a Primus sent gift from above," he said through a laugh. "One o' the Con's weapons detonated in their lines! Primus, it looks like it even caused a chain reaction—set off the rest of their supply!" The red mech ran a hand over his crest and scurried up one of the ramps to peer at the battlefield, looking far too spry for a mech who had looked so worn earlier that day. He leaned down and called through the hole. "By Primus, I've never seen anything like it!"

Ratchet hurried up after the mech, grabbing his offered hand as he nearly slipped in his haste. Ironhide helped pull him through the hole and into the trench and Ratchet coughed through the smoke that hung over it. Just a few hundred yards in front of him, he could see the flames from the explosion burning and the smoke billowing from the ashes of the former Decepticon front lines. Heat registered against his armor and he gaped at how lucky they had been—any closer and the front lines would be in much worse shape than it was.

"Oh Primus," Ratchet breathed. The explosion had leveled nearly everything. Where the Decepticon trenches had woven through the crust now stood a hole of smoldering wreckage that cut through the maze of tunnels like a giant fist had been brought down on them. "What could have done this?"

Ironhide shrugged. "The Cons must be turning out weapons far beyond their abilities—they overreached," he said. "Y'know what? Frag that, I don't care- as long as they keep doin' it."

Through the smoke, Ratchet saw figures running- mechs _retreating_. "Oh Primus," he said again, not believing what he was seeing.

As though a confirmation to what his optics were registering, Ultra Magnus' voice registered over a base-wide comm, ringing strongly in his audios. "Press the advantage, mechs!" he called and all around him, a roar of primal glee rang out from the soldiers. They seemed to move as a wave, hurdling over the lip of the trenches and charging towards the retreating Decepticons. Ironhide disappeared onto the surface with the rest of the throng and Ratchet watched him leap over the open veins, his gun leveled towards the enemy lines.

Ratchet crouched down and looked through a hole into the medic's tunnel. "You, you, you and you," he said, pointing at four medbots in turn, Forcep included. "Follow me!" he barked. The mechs scrambled to obey, climbing up into the trench to join him. Ratchet lacked the primal glee of battle these soldiers all held, but as he pulled himself up over the rim of the trench, four medbots in tow, he had the intent to catch anyone who fell.


	24. Unlikely Saboteur

I'm trying to pump out chapters quickly this month and the reason for this is starting in May, I'm going to be going back to school and I have a feeling I'm not going to have much time for writing. BUT, I'm hoping to have an intermission of sorts before then, though I can't make any promises. Thanks again for your watches, favs and comments, you guys are awesome!

* * *

><p>"Put a clamp on those lines, seal it with a patch and send him back to base for further repairs, Ratchet barked and the medbot, Rift was his name, hurried to obey. "You," he said, pointing at a soldier with a simple shoulder injury. "You help him get there." The mech nodded and crouched down, putting his good hand on the mech's shoulder while Rift carried out his instructions. The soldier had had his left leg blown off by a landmine, and served as a grim warning for the rest of the Autobots that searched the area.<p>

Not many Decepticons had stayed since the explosion, but those that did hadn't gone down without a fight, and Ratchet was helping patch up the injuries, instructing his four medbots on what to do when they came across something out of their league. A part of him felt bad about tossing them into the brawl without having a chance to train them up first, but their impeccable ability to follow orders came in handy with the cut and dry injuries he was seeing.

Laser wounds were the most prominent, acid pellet burns a quick second. The Decepticons had fortified their lines with landmines, but a mech who looked close enough could detect the irregularities in the ground before stepping on them- especially after this young solider had taken the first hit to warn the rest of them.

"Whelp, they're not outta Charr, but we scared 'em back," Ironhide said as he caught up to Ratchet. "Not to mention, that blast took out a big chunk of their firepower and mechpower- if they ain't plannin' on abandoning their operation, it'll take them awhile to get re-supplied. We won't let 'em get that far though," he added with a rather cruel smirk.

Ratchet didn't say anything, his lips pressed into a thin line. He still couldn't understand how anyone could get enjoyment out of such destruction. In a way, it was like seeing some of the mechs in Kaon all over again. He pushed that unnerving thought aside as Ironhide asked, "How are repairs going? What do you need from me?"

Ratchet sighed and looked around. "I need more mechs to help take the injured and casualties back to base," he said through a sigh. "There aren't many we couldn't help, but I want to see the unlucky ones off to the Well. I don't give a slag what Autobot protocol is, but _I_ still intend to show respect to the fallen."

Ironhide tsked. "Yeh underestimate us- we never leave our dead. We ain't no Cons," he said, offended. "They deserve better than that for what they did here."

Ratchet let out a noncommittal grunt. "I want to sweep the area- be sure there's no mech lying hurt in a trench somewhere," he said.

"I'll send a squad out," Ironhide said. "They'll sweep and report to you with what they find. Any conscious mech will send out an emergency ping, but there might be some not as well off. I'll escort ya."

Ratchet looked at him in surprise. "Escort me?" he repeated.

"Medics are still a scarce thing around Charr- especially good ones," Ironhide said. "Worst case, you run into a Con straggler and he shoots yeh. Best case, you find yourself cuffed and taken back to Kaon."

Ratchet blanched at the thought before looking towards the rubble on the ground. He had to kick over a few pieces of scrap before he found a pistol, dropped from the hands of a dead Decepticon. He picked it up and tested it against the ground, loosing off a shot to be sure it still worked. He stored it in subspace before nodding to Ironhide. "Let's go."

As he took point, he didn't get a chance to see the look of approval on the red mech's face. Ironhide's comm. clicked on. "Alright, Jarix squad with me. Sweep the area for injured. Kill hostiles- if they surrender first, take 'em to the convoy."

Ratchet got on his comm. as well. "Rift, Crankdown and Forcep, I want you to split off with Jarix squad. Split into three groups, we'll cover more ground that way. Jinx, stay behind and be sure injured mechs are being escorted back to base." A chorus of affirmatives rang through his comm. and Ratchet relaxed a little. The worst was over. Now it was just time for cleanup. Carefully, they picked their way through the ruined lines, cautious as to where they stepped. The ground was more unstable now after the explosion—the tunnels that ran beneath them far too easy to put a foot into.

"What do you do with prisoners?" Ratchet asked after a moment.

Ironhide carefully stepped over a pile of rubble as he followed Ratchet, his gun still clutched and ready in his hands. "We send 'em to a camp," he said. "I'm calling it a POW camp, though the higher ups don't want to admit that it's gotten to that level. They're calling it a prison camp for now. They still think this is just a rebellion- something that can be shot down by the Enforcers with a little help from the Northern military, but I'm saying they're wrong." He sighed and shook his head, stepping over a smoking pile of rubble. "This is war. The Cons aren't gonna stop and the sooner the mechs on top realize that, the better."

Ratchet made a noise of disgust. "Zeta Prime's a fool," he muttered. "Anyone with functioning optics can see that this is more than just a rebellion."

"Zeta is... distanced from all this," Ironhide muttered. "He's not seeing it like we are. Things look very different when you're readin' 'em off a datapad."

"It'd do him good to take the trip," Ratchet muttered and continued to pick his way through the rubble. They got closer to the epicenter of the explosion, picking carefully through the smoldering wreckage it had left in its wake. Ratchet's foot clipped a piece of shrapnel and flipped it over to reveal the red medic's cross painted on the front. He looked around, optics wide as he saw the ruined remains of med crates and supplies, as well as the half-melted med berths. "Oh Primus," he whispered. He had stood at this spot just a few days earlier. What would have happened if he and Perceptor hadn't escaped?

His optics glossed over the remains of the mechs that had been there- a flash of grey armor, a black optic. A part of him wondered when he had become so desensitized towards the slaughter, why he didn't feel sick to his tanks at the sight like he used to. He sighed sadly and trudged on, optics and sensors alert for any signs of life.

His foot landed on an uneven piece of ground and nearly rolled, causing him to stumble. His heavy tread was enough to crack the ground beneath him, sending his foot straight through, the rest of him quick on its way to follow. Ironhide swore and grabbed his hand, catching him before he tumbled the rest of the way into the tunnel.

"Y'alright?" he asked. Ratchet nodded, holding onto the mech as tightly as he could. He dared to look down, seeing his foot disappearing into the darkness below. Ironhide grunted and heaved him back out of the hole, setting him back on sturdy ground once more. "This place was too close—I don't know if anyone could have survived this close to the blast seat. It's not safe with the ground crumbling like it is."

Ratchet ran a shaking hand over his helm as he looked at the destruction ahead of him. There was still so much that was unsearched, though a part of him knew Ironhide was right. Eventually, they'd run into where the Cons were trying to regroup and they didn't have the mechpower to fight them off as they were.

"Just a little further," he insisted, something in his tanks telling him to search just a little further. He was careful to watch his every step, testing the ground before he put his foot down, but even so, he must have set off the delicate balance of a pile of scrap, because it fell, crashing into the ground with a clatter. He winced at the noise as it cut through the quiet crackling of the flames.

"Please, don't shoot," a voice called out. Both Ratchet and Ironhide jumped, turning their attention and weapons towards the source. "I'm unarmed, please, _please_ don't shoot."

"Show yourself!" Ironhide barked, optics scanning the ruined landscape for any sign of the mech.

A shaking figure slowly raised himself from behind a pile of rubble, hands lifted to the air. "I don't want any trouble," the mech said, his voice slowly fading into shocked silence as he turned to face them. The mech's mouth dropped open, like his vents suddenly weren't drawing in enough air. One helm fin had been blown off, his armor had been reinforced and he was covered from head to foot in soot, but nothing could cover up the fact that Wheeljack had just risen out of the ashes.

Ratchet didn't say a word. He dropped his gun and walked towards the mech before yanking him into a fierce hug. Wheeljack let out a sound of relief, somewhere between a laugh and a cry of joy. His friend's legs were shaking so badly that he could hardly stand and Ratchet sank to the ground with him, not willing to let go. Wheeljack returned the embrace, holding Ratchet until he thought his armor would bend. For a long moment neither of them said a word. They didn't need to. The relief was palpable and Ratchet suddenly no longer felt so alone.

"Your friend in the medbay- Spec told me that you had gone to Charr," Wheeljack said at last, his voice cracking. Ratchet reluctantly loosened his grip, holding his friend at arm's length to look him over for any injuries he might have missed. It was a miracle he'd survived this close to the blast seat, let alone as unscathed as he was. Relatively speaking. "I volunteered to bring a new weapon here, and when I asked about you, they said that you'd gone AWOL. Disappeared into the tunnels."

Ratchet could feel his friend shaking and gave an unsteady laugh as he peered at his ruined helm fin. "Can it really be considered AWOL when I never joined in the first place?" he wondered.

Wheeljack gave a short bark of a laugh, his optics still wide with shock as he looked at him. "Primus, I can't believe you're here- you're _alive_!" he said, his vents working hard to keep him cool. "After Spec said you'd been sent to Charr I just thought—"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Ratchet said as he felt his friend's tremors worsen. His friend was undoubtedly in shock- _anyone_ would be after being so close to that explosion and surviving. Ratchet would even bet that this had been Wheeljack's first taste of what a battlefield could look like. "Jack, you're safe now. This," he looks over his shoulder at the red mech who, thankfully, had stayed back, "is Ironhide. He's an Autobot. He found me and Perceptor in the tunnels and took us in."

Behind him, he heard Ironhide's quiet snort at the simplification. Wheeljack's optics brightened. "Perceptor? Oh Primus, he's alright?" he asked.

Ratchet's smile was strained as he plugged his scanner into the mech's wrist. "He's not hurt," he said. "He's safe at the Autobot's base. I'll... I'll tell you the whole story when we get you there. Ironhide, this is Wheeljack. He's one of the ones taken from Praxus." His quick scan finished, showing an accelerated energon circulation rate and shortwave fluctuations of spark energy. "We're gonna take you back to the Autobot base, okay? You're having a stress reaction. It's perfectly normal, alright? You're going to be fine, just take a few deep breaths."

Wheeljack's vents opened up wide and he nodded, his optics glazed and unfocused, like he was seeing something the rest of them couldn't.

Ironhide stepped forward, only sparing the Decepticon insignia on his chassis a quick glance before offering a hand, carefully helping the mech to his feet. "We've heard about you," he said and glanced at Ratchet. "Glad to see you're alright- that explosion that took out this area was somethin' else."

Wheeljack's optics brightened as he got to his feet and he dropped Ironhide's hand like it had burned him. "Yeah... yeah it was," he said. "I'd, uh... probably be more proud of it if it hadn't wiped out an entire battalion, but what can you do?" he asked, his voice cracking again. It was a weak attempt at humor that he obviously didn't feel.

Ironhide stared at the mech with wide optics. "You... you caused that?" he asked and motioned to the crater the explosion had left behind.

"Ironhide, don't," Ratchet said as Wheeljack's optics paled at his words.

Wheeljack gave a small shrug, though Ratchet could see his composure beginning to crumble. "I know how to cause a big bang," he said. "I... had to help the Cons build bombs- they didn't realize that the ones I touched have a built in defect. Crossed wires, plus some inexperienced weapons manufacturers, equal a big boom when they try to set them off. I delivered this one and knew when they were setting it— I found cover before it happened."

"Jack, you don't—" Ratchet began, seeing how his friend's already tentative calm was quickly dissolving.

Ironhide's optics widened and it was like he hadn't even heard Ratchet. "You mean we might be seein' more light shows like this?" he asked. Wheeljack simply nodded and tried to clasp his shaking hands tightly in front of him, as though trying to hide them. "Well then it's an honor to meet yeh. You might have turned the battle for us here."

"You're welcome," Wheeljack said, like the mech had just thanked him for a cube of energon. His armor clattered audible as his tremors increased, his optics slowly sliding out of focus.

Ratchet swore and caught him before he could fall, gently lowering him to the ground before he legs gave out entirely. "Damn it, Ironhide," he snapped. "What part of 'don't' didn't you get? I_ know_ you know what shellshock looks like."

Ironhide winced and had the decency to look abashed. "Ah slag it, I'm sorry," he said. "It's just—we've had a lack of good news in Charr. Somethin' like this is more welcome than you could know. Mechs were starting to despair easily here."

Ratchet glowered as he disconnected his scanner, barely hearing the apology. "Oh a scale of how little I care, your camp morale ranks far, _far_ below Wheeljack's wellbeing," he snapped. He lowered his voice before saying, "And for Primus sake, do _not_ let people know it was him. Your mechs don't need to be—be _congratulating _him on something he feels sick about, got it?" he says sharply.

Ironhide's optics narrowed. "Mech, I oughta—"

"We can argue later—shut up and help me," Ratchet interrupted as he carefully pulled Wheeljack's arm over his shoulder. Ironhide growled low in his throat, but he took the hint and quickly did the same to his other side. They stood as one and Wheeljack valiantly tried to walk with them, murmuring under his breath that he was fine, he could walk on his own, thank you. Distantly heard Ironhide get on his comm. but his words seemed so insignificant compared to Wheeljack's weight against him.


	25. Reconciliation

"I can't sleep."

He was recognizable now, at least. His whites were, if not pristine, they were at least white and Ratchet could see the red and green decals streaking down his frame, interspersed with scratches and dents that autorepair would have to take care of on its own. Ratchet hadn't had a chance to repair his headfin, but it was cosmetic damage- nothing life threatening. He thought of his friend's face behind his mask and swallowed, remembering exactly what cosmetic damage could do, if left untreated.

Ratchet pulled up a chair beside his berth, blocking out the pained breaths and moans of the medbay's recovering occupants. Just as he'd instructed, the more severe injuries had been stabilized and brought back to the base for repairs. It also meant that the medbay was the fullest he'd ever seen it. Ironhide had assured him that it hadn't been a costly battle, all things considered, but as Ratchet glanced around at the full berths, he had to wonder. Triage had ended earlier in the night—now it was finalizing repairs and letting mech's recover.

"Let me take a look at your head fin, then," Ratchet said quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping mech in the berth next to him.

Wheeljack gave a wan smile. "Thanks," he said quietly, knowing that Ratchet was doing it, simply to be close to him.

Ratchet returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach his optics. He was exhausted- they all were, and yet Ratchet had to commend the medical staff. They had stayed awake with him and with the two other mechs from the lines—the ones that had their stripes, Ratchet felt some of the responsibility lift from his shoulders. The medbots went to them with quiet questions instead of him, gravitating towards familiar faces that wore their insignia instead of the stranger that had browbeaten them and their entire operation. It was a bit of a relief, and yet it stung on a level he wasn't expecting.

"How are you feeling?" he asked and plugged in a scan again, checking the mech's temperature readings. He had cooled down significantly, though he couldn't be too surprised. Jack had had a couple of the mechanisms in his vents rattled or broken by the explosion, and now that those were fixed, things seemed to be evening themselves out.

Wheeljack gave a noncommittal shrug and ran a hand over his helm. "Tired," he said quietly. "And just... not quite here. It all seems so surreal, you know?"

Ratchet's vents huffed in a quiet laugh. "Oh, believe me, I do," he said quietly. "Some mornings, I wake up here and wonder where the pit I am. I keep expecting to hear Spec yelling at me or the alarms in HQ going off." He checked his scans and was glad to see that more and more were coming back clear—autorepair was kicking back on now that his systems were working their way out of shellshock and his circulation along with his energy levels were returning back to normal. "You know, I've even had moments where I wonder why I'm not in my apartment by the University."

Wheeljack smiled at that before looking back up at the ceiling. "So much has happened," he said.

Ratchet let out a long sigh. "I know," he said and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "But we _did_ it, Jack. We're free mechs once more. You were right," he said with a smile. "We made the change ourselves and we got out of there." Wheeljack's smile widened, turned more genuine as he remembered their conversation that first night in Kaon HQ. As Wheeljack's optics slowly slid out of focus, Ratchet knew exactly what the other mech was thinking. "It seems so long ago, doesn't it?" Ratchet asked. "I mean... Primus, that feels like a lifetime ago."

"We were different mechs back then," Wheeljack said. "What sort of mechs are we now?"

Something about the way he said it, something about his tone made Ratchet pause. "You feel guilty," he said, not as a question.

Wheeljack's head tilted back, his optics glowing dimly as he looked at Ratchet. "Of course I feel guilty," he whispered. "I... I _ended_ over two-hundred mechs today. I'll be the death of a lot more before this is all over."

"Jack," Ratchet began, trying to think of anything he could say that would help put his friend at ease. "They were Decepticons- those were the same mechs that kept us prisoner inside of Kaon HQ. They—" he opened his mouth to say more, but the dark thoughts swirling through his head had started to sound like Ironhide. It unnerved him on a level he didn't want to admit, so he stopped the words before they could even leave his mouth.

Wheeljack, though, finished it for him. "They deserved it," he said, though he wasn't quite able to cover up the pain in his voice.

Ratchet let out a long sigh and couldn't help but feel a little bit of relief that his friend had said it, and not him. He could lie to himself all he liked, grimace and scowl when Ironhide took pleasure in killing Decepticons, but a part of his processor, the dark background of his mind harbored so much anger and hate that he couldn't help but agree, even if he would never say it out loud. They _had_ deserved it, though he'd be damned if he ever admitted it.

"I know it's hard, but try to think of something else," Ratchet said quietly and put a hand on his friend's helm. Wheeljack gave a short, humorless laugh, showing just how possible he thought that was. "Think about what you'll do now," he continued. "You're a free mech again, Wheeljack. What are you going to do with it?" When Rung had asked him that same question, he hadn't known what to say. He _still_ didn't know what to say. He'd promised to help in Charr, but with things progressing as they were, he wondered how long the arrangement would last.

Wheeljack was quiet for a long moment, his optics so dim that Ratchet began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. His scan was still plugged in and he could see the mech's levels evening out further, though his processor was still spiking with activity. Ratchet tinkered gently with his head fin, being sure all the sensors were deadened so he didn't feel a thing, though he was using the ritual of repair more as a distracting from his own troubling thoughts.

"What are you going to do?" Wheeljack asked and Ratchet nearly jumped.

He looked down at his friend, seeing that the glow had returned a little to his optics. He swallowed and leaned in a little closer to his head fin, turning a small light on by the berth so he could see better in the dim room. "I'm not sure yet," he said quietly. "I... I want to wait until after this bomb threat passes before I make any decisions."

Wheeljack nodded, but wasn't content to drop the subject yet. "Thinking optimistically—what do you think you'll do?" he asked.

Ratchet swallowed, thinking of his creators in Iacon and Bluestreak being evacuated to Polyhex. Potentially, he could visit one on his way to the other. "I... I think I'm going to go home," he said at last. "Swing through Polyhex to check on Bluestreak before I go back to Iacon."

Wheeljack gave a small smile at that and sighed wistfully. "Primus... we really do have a choice now, don't we?" he asked.

Ratchet smiled. "We really do," he promised. "As much as they want us to stay, the Autobots won't force us."

Wheeljack gave a small snort at that. "I don't want to stay here," he said. "I'm antsy just lying here... I just, I need to get away from all this, you know?"

Ratchet's optics slid out of focus, his own demons coming back to haunt him. "I know. Believe me, I definitely understand," he said.

They fell into a comfortable silence, both of them simply enjoying the others company. It had been too long since they'd seen each other and, for Ratchet, he felt more at ease knowing that his friend was close again. He magnified his optics, leaning in close as he carefully cleaned the debris and ash from Wheeljack's head fin. They didn't have the supplies to replace it, but Ratchet didn't mind rebuilding it. He just didn't look right with only one half lighting up.

"Wheeljack?"

Both mechs looked up and Ratchet had to readjust his optics to be able to see Perceptor standing a few berth lengths away. His optics were wide and Ratchet swallowed, wondering if he should leave or not. Perceptor didn't seem to mind his presence as he walked briskly over to the berth and practically threw himself at Wheeljack. The engineer let out an "oof!" of surprise, but returned the embrace, half dragging Perceptor the rest of the way onto the med berth.

Neither of them had to say a word. Perceptor simply buried his face against the mech's neck, his frame shaking and vents stuttering as he hugged him tightly. Wheeljack held him close, stoically ignoring the weight against the painful dents and dings on his frame, or maybe he just didn't notice it. Ratchet watched them for a moment before slowly getting to his feet, wanting them to have their time to talk.

Wheeljack's hand reached out and grabbed his. His optic's locked with Ratchet's and he gave a small shake of his head. Ratchet hesitated but slowly took his seat again, unable to ignore the persistent grip on his hand. Wheeljack gave a small smile and rubbed Perceptor's neck with his free hand before quietly asking, "What happened, Percy?"

Ratchet saw him visibly tense at the nickname, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he buried his face against the mech's neck and drew in a long breath. Wheeljack held him and waited, not wanting to press him. Ratchet shifted nervously, afraid of what the mech would say.

Perceptor swallowed and drew in another deep breath and then another. "I tried to kill myself," he whispered. Wheeljack tightened his embrace minutely, finally letting go of Ratchet's hand to hold onto the smaller mech. "I drank liquid helium. I couldn't take the guilt or the shame anymore. I thought..." He paused, as though uncertain how to continue. "I figured that if I wasn't around, he couldn't keep using me. And Ratchet..." Ratchet's hands tightened on the edge of the medberth. "He wiped my memories, tried to make me forget it all. Him and that medic, Spec... they helped me get out of Kaon."

Wheeljack looked at Ratchet, optics wide with shock and he could only guess what was going through his head. Ratchet swallowed and kept his optics lowered, not wanting to look for clarification on his friend's face. He wanted to explain himself, but a part of him felt like he deserved the scrutiny. He was shocked when Perceptor continued.

"Ratchet was trying to help me," he said quietly. "I don't think I would have left Kaon if he hadn't done it."

Ratchet let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and dared to look up at Perceptor. The mech still had his face buried against Wheeljack's neck, but his optics were on, their light watching Ratchet. He offered him a small smile, which Perceptor tentatively returned. He relaxed a little bit and leaned back in his chair, watching Wheeljack hold the mech tightly.

"And now?" Wheeljack asked quietly.

Perceptor shrugged. "I'm... coping," he said. "There's a mech here, named Rung. He helped Ratchet restore my memories and he's been helping me... reconcile them. I feel a lot better knowing that the information has been passed on to someone else. It's... a weight off of my shoulders."

Wheeljack nodded and gave Perceptor a gentle squeeze of an embrace. "What information?" he asked quietly.

Perceptor swallowed. "About a weapon that Landslide was working on," he said. "It's set to detonate in five days, above Iacon, but I... changed the coordinates before I left. It will detonate far over the Rust Sea unless Landslide catches my alteration. If he does, well... I've provided enough information about the bomb to the Autobots, that Iacon should be able to create a security measure that will keep the city protected."

He sounded nervous, even as he said it. "You know what sort of mechs work in Iacon, Perce," Wheeljack said quietly. "They have some of the greatest minds on the planet—and with the info you've given them? They'll be just fine, thanks to you."

Perceptor let out a deep breath and relaxed minutely, even as he nodded. He still looked troubled, but what else was there to do? It was out of their hands now. "I'm glad you're okay, Jack," Perceptor said quietly and tightened his embrace on his friend.

Wheeljack closed his optics tiredly and tightened his embrace before letting him up. "Me too."

Ratchet couldn't help but smile. Both of his friends were safe, and for now, he was able to content himself with that knowledge, forgetting about the war above and the looming threats in the distance. Slowly, he reached out and put his hand on Perceptor's shoulder and was relieved when he didn't flinch. "We need to let Jack sleep," he said quietly.

Perceptor nodded, but stayed put a moment longer, as though reluctant to let go. "I'll still be here tomorrow," Wheeljack promised and tightened his embrace for a moment longer before letting the mech up.

Perceptor got to his feet and it was only then that Ratchet noticed Rung standing on the far side of the medbay, watching them with a look of approval on his face. The orange mech's optics met Ratchet's and he offered a smile that the medic returned. Rung had promised he would help, and Ratchet was glad to see that he had been able to keep that promise.

"We'll see you tomorrow, okay Perce?" Wheeljack asked.

Perceptor nodded and gave his hand one last squeeze. "See you tomorrow," he said before walking over to where Rung waited. He watched them talk quietly for just a moment before Rung put a hand on Perceptor's shoulder and steered him out of the mebday.

"You did the right thing, you know." Ratchet looked down at his friend, seeing the light fading from Wheeljack's optics as he vainly tried to fight off recharge. "You did what you had to to keep him safe... I can't say I could have thought of another way to do it."

Ratchet smiled at that, his spark jumping in his chassis. "Thank you," he said quietly, and the guilt seemed to lessen, now that he knew someone out there agreed with his decision. He leaned a little closer to his friend's head fin, carefully welding a connection back into place.

His optics caught Wheeljack's scan readouts and he blinked. He'd been too distracted by conversation and his delicate repairs to even notice them, but now he saw that Wheeljack's system had evened out completely. The mech was at nearly textbook standards right now—his spark fluctuations had ceased, his temperature was evened out and his processor wavelengths was no longer jolting around like a concussed mech. He had balanced and with that, his exhaustion was quickly catching up. Apparently, seeing him and Perceptor had been exactly what he had needed to even him out.

"If you fall asleep, I won't be offended," Ratchet said gently. "You need to rest."

"I told you, I'm not tired," Wheeljack murmured, though Ratchet was starting to detect a distinct slur to his voice. He was fading and they both knew it. He was just trying to be polite.

"Uh huh," Ratchet said flatly. "You know, I can always give you some more sedative- I'm actually kind of shocked how well you fended off my last dose." He squeezed his shoulder gently. "Just rest—I'll be right here, I promise."

Wheeljack chuckled and slowly let his optics slide closed. "Whatever you say, doctor," he said with a grin. Ratchet smiled at that and watched as Wheeljack's scans started to slow, signaling the beginnings of a recharge cycle.


	26. Change of Spark

Thank you all for your patience with this chapter! I hope it's worth the wait :D

* * *

><p>"You'll be back soon?" Wheeljack asked, his concern evident in his voice. A few days of rest and repair had done wonders for the mech. He had a healthy glow to his optics again and his systems were running strong once more.<p>

Ratchet offered a wan smile as he double checked his supplies. "As soon as I can," he promised. "The Cons have retreated from Charr entirely—Magnus has given us the all clear. We're going do a final sweep of the battlefield and send the fallen off properly." He closed his overly full subspace and sighed. "There might still be wounded mechs out there. They need my help."

Wheeljack still didn't look happy but he settled back onto his medberth. "I would say I'd like to come with you... but truth be told, I really, really don't," he said. "I don't envy that task."

Ratchet sighed. "Yeah, me neither," he muttered. "But the good news. Your systems have evened out and your autorepair's kicked on at full strength out so take this as my permission to get up and walk around. The dropship is gonna be here in four days so get your fill of this wonderful area of Charr before it's too late," he added.

Wheeljack snorted. "Primus, four days," he said. "I still can't believe it. We're going _home_."

Ratchet smiled at that, but didn't voice what they were both thinking. Even while the Autobots had pushed their final advantage and run the Cons out of Charr, the clock had continued to tick. The bomb was set to go off in two days. There was still a possibility that they wouldn't have a home to return to. He banished the thought, though that nagging part of his processor couldn't help but see the irony in getting so close to returning home, only to have it snatched away once again.

A comm. pinged him. "You ready?" Ironhide asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he said back. He pulled Wheeljack into a quick hug. "Keep Perceptor company for me, would you?"

Wheeljack grinned and returned the embrace. "Of course."

Ratchet hurried to Ironhide's location, climbing up a ladder to take him above ground where the red mech and his collected group waited. He recognized a few faces and it was only now that he was able to get a good look at the three striped medics that had been out in the trenches. He had gathered that the two ground-alt mechs were named Kit and Lexicon, but they seemed to defer to the third mech—a flier that was red and white with areas of blue on his chassis and hands. He was older than the rest of them and it showed in the weary expression in his optics. He hadn't had a chance to learn his name yet, but as the mech talked quietly to Ultra Magnus, he seemed to stand a little straighter before looking directly at Ratchet.

Ratchet did a double-take, making brief optic contact with the mech before heading towards Ironhide, not certain that he wanted to know what they were talking about. The red mech was bellowing orders, getting every mech organized for their sweep of the battlefield. When he was finished, Ratchet nudged him. "Who is that?" he asked and pointed to the medic.

Ironhide glanced over. "Oh, that's Pharma," he said. "Magnus just named him CMO of this battalion. You might want to report to him—he's in charge of medical personnel now."

Ratchet snorted. "No thanks. I don't want him mistaking me for someone he _has_ authority over," he said with a grin. "I'll stick with you. It worked out well enough last time."

Ironhide raised an optic ridge at that, but Ratchet detected a hint of a smirk. "Whatever you say, mech," he said before sending the comm. to move out.

Ratchet followed along behind them, watching groups branch off in a grid pattern so they could search the entirety of the field. The mechs got to work with a mechanical sort of practice, clearing the Autobot fallen from the field and the trenches. Ratchet kept within optic range of Ironhide as he picked through the battlefield, checking for any injured. After a short while, he started sending out hailing frequencies out, wondering if any injured mechs would be able to reply. A few moments, later, he registered pings from the other medics who started doing the same.

By mid-day, Ratchet was feeling discouraged. He hadn't found a single mech that he could even begin to help, and he knew the others were having similar success. Only six mechs had been found and two had passed before they could even be loaded onto a transport. Cybertron's suns were beating down on them in unity today and Ratchet reached into his subspace, pulling out a cube of coolant as Ironhide carefully helped load up another body onto a transport.

He had set his hailing frequency to automatically send out every couple of minutes, and it wasn't until halfway through his cube that he noticed the faint reply blipping on his HUD. He nearly choked on his cube, wondering how long that reply had been there without him noticing. He looked back at Ironhide, but the mech was busy passing out orders to a group of mechs. He hesitated for only a moment- they hadn't run into any hostile mechs, or even any alive mechs for that matter. What danger could there be?

Quickly, he finished off his cube before heading in the direction of the faint signal. It was originating from a ways away, far closer to where Pharma and his group are. He couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't announced that they'd detected a reply and were going to investigate. He checked the hailing reply again and it only took him a moment longer to realize that the comm. was encrypted.

Whoever sent the frequency had sent it specifically to him.

He swore and looked back at Ironhide one more time, but he had already moved on, helping load up another fallen soldier. Pulling his gun out of subspace for good measure, Ratchet continued towards the frequency, keeping an optic out for any hint of a threat.

He could handle this.

He picked his way through the rubble, keeping his gun gripped tightly in his hand. The comm. frequency got stronger and stronger until he felt like he was right on top of it. He squinted through the midday sun, seeing Pharma and another bot in the distance, but at this part of the battlefield, there were barely any signs of the fight. No bodies, no char marks, barely any signs of shrapnel or bullet damage.

So where the frag was he?

Ratchet sighed and carefully stepped over a rift in the metal ground. There was a groan of straining iron before his foot fell through, and only quick reflexes stopped the quickly widening hole from dragging him down with it. He felt the familiar falling sensation and quickly grabbed onto a seam in the metal before he could fall through completely, his leg dangling into open air. He swore and held on tightly, praying the metal he was holding on didn't give way as well. The metal stopped crumbling and he heard the clatter of the last few pieces of debris hit the ground below before he finally relaxed enough to look down into the breached vein. And found a pair of purple optics looking back up at him.

Ratchet's optics widened and judged the drop before letting himself fall. The landing jarred his knees and made his dentals rattle in his head, but as he looked at the two, _two,_ mechs down here, he knew he had made the right choice. Only one was conscious and he held his partner's head cradled in his lap, other hand gripping a shaking gun that was aimed directly at Ratchet. He barely noticed it, focusing instead on the grey edges to the other mech's armor.

"You an Autobot?" the mech asked, his voice shaking as badly as the rest of him.

Ratchet dropped his gun and carefully held up his hands. "No, I'm not. Not really," he said.

"You a Con then? Yours was the only comm. that wasn't on an Autobot frequency," the mech said, indigo optics eying him warily.

Ratchet took a tentative step forward. "I'm unaffiliated. My name's Ratchet," he said. "I'm... an impartial party in this stupid war you all are fighting. But if you don't let me take a look at your friend soon, he's going to die in your lap."

The red mech swallowed, optics pained, before he finally lowered his gun. Primus, they were _young, _younger than Perceptor by far. Far too young to fight in the Autobot army, but as he glimpsed the purple insignia against the mech's red armor, he doubted the Decepticons had issues sending younglings to die. Ratchet hurried over and knelt next to the two, pulling his medkit out of subspace. "What happened?" A part of him wondered why he was doing this. Hadn't he said that the Decepticons had gotten what they deserved?

The red mech smoothed a hand over his partner's helm, optics bright and distant. He looked... destroyed, his entire demeanor speaking of a pain that bordered on the physical, though he didn't seem to have more than a few dents on him. "Some bomb went off. He shielded me and got hit," the mech said.

Ratchet swallowed and hooked his scanner up to the yellow mech even as he leaned in close, examining the entrance wound carefully. It had punched straight through his armor, which was no easy feat- both him and his partner had thicker armor than was standard. Chances are it had severed a number of energon and coolant lines.

"How long has he been like this?" Ratchet asked. His optics glanced the purple insignia on the yellow mechs chassis, right next to where the shrapnel jutted out like a ragged flag. Why was he still helping them?

"A day and a half—right before the retreat. I dragged him here… thought it would be safe," he said.

Ratchet nodded and knew that the shrapnel was the only thing that had kept him alive for so long—remove it without proper precautions and he's bleed out in a matter of minutes. He pulled out a packet of med grade energon and carefully attached the shunt to the mech's neck. "What's your name, kid?" he asked, trying to keep the shocked red soldier occupied.

"S-sideswipe," he said.

Ratchet sighed and pulled out his laser scalpel, carefully cutting a line in the mechs yellow armor and peeling it back enough so he could see the extent of the damage. "How old are you, Sideswipe?" he asked.

The red mech scowled and looked away, focusing on the yellow mech instead. "16 vorns," he said.

Ratchet snorted. "Don't play me for a fool kid—you haven't even had your final upgrade yet. I can see right through that extra armor," he said.

The red mech scowled audibly, optics narrowing. For a moment, Ratchet didn't think he would answer, but he finally murmured, "10 vorns, alright?"

Ratchet nodded, even as he winced inwardly. The yellow mech didn't seem any older. These two should by with their creators or at a youngling center, not in the middle of a fragging battlefield. He swore quietly and focused his attention on the injury before him.

The piece of shrapnel had embedded itself pretty deep, almost scraping the side of the mech's spark casing. Fortunately, it had missed and had just severed two energon lines and a coolant reservoir. The coolant reservoir would have to be replaced, but as long as the mech didn't strain himself too much, he could do without it until it was fixed. Fortunately, the cut was surprisingly clean- the thick energon lines by his spark would just need a few quick welds. He'd need a full coolant and energon flush to get rid of any contaminants that had made it into his lines, but overall, the mech had gotten very, very lucky.

"Are you a Neutral?" Sideswipe asked at last. "Why are you with the Autobots?"

Ratchet leaned in close to the yellow mech's chassis, zooming his optics in to get a better look. "I was kidnapped and taken to Kaon. They were the first mechs I found after I escaped. And I told you—I'm an impartial party." Was he really? When he'd talked to Wheeljack, he had felt a bit of vindication at the destruction of the Decepticons forces in Charr, had even thought they deserved it. But these two young mechs certainly didn't, and he felt slightly sick for even thinking it. He was a _medic_. Just as it had felt wrong in Kaon deciding which mechs should get treatment and which mechs were lost causes, it felt wrong to him now. No matter how much anger and hatred he harbored, he couldn't simply let a mech die—no matter what stupid insignia they wore. He sighed and added, "But that doesn't make me any less of a doctor."

A quiet moment passed as Ratchet continued to work, widening the gap in the yellow mech's armor to try and loosen the embedded piece. "Sideswipe, I'm going to need your help here," he said as he finally finished his preparations. "You're going to hold your friend's shoulders down and hold them down _hard_. He's too low on energy to wake up, but... that piece is stuck in there good and I'm going to have to pull pretty hard. Can you do that?"

The red mech swallowed, his mix-colored optics bright and wide. It seemed to take him a moment to decide if he was capable or not, but he finally put his hands on his partner's shoulders, holding tightly. Ratchet nodded and grabbed the piece of metal, careful of the jagged edges. He activated the magnets in his fingertips before pulling up, following the angle the piece had entered at. For a moment the jagged piece held before coming loose with a wet schlick. He quickly tossed the piece aside, ignoring how Sideswipe's optics brightened further, turning them nearly white.

Ratchet didn't waste any time sealing up the lines, picking out smaller pieces of shrapnel as he went. The mech's internals were a mess of congealed energon and coolant, but as long as they didn't sit for too long, it wouldn't have a chance to corrode his inner-workings. As it was, Ratchet didn't have anything more than a rag to clean him out with, and he cleaned off as much as he could as he sealed the lines. Finally, he finished with a quick weld patch to stop any other particulates from getting under his armor, though it would be easy to remove when they made it somewhere safe for repairs. Slowly, the color came back to the mech's armor, changing it from a dull, sun-washed yellow to a more vibrant gold. The energon shunt continued its work and Ratchet watched the mech's energy levels slowly continue to rise.

"He got lucky," Ratchet said through a sigh. "He still needs a full fluid flush and his internals cleaned out thoroughly—all of which I can't do on a battlefield."

Sideswipe nodded, hands gripping the yellow mech's shoulders tightly as he shook. His relief was almost palpable, but there was no denying that he was still shaken up. Knowing how young he was, he had every slagging right to be. "I'll get him somewhere. Somewhere safe," he said. "I... Primus, I don't know how to thank you."

Ratchet looked at the young mech and cleaned the congealed energon from his fingers. "Get out of here," he said. "Charr is no place for a couple of younglings." The yellow mechs readings had evened out, his energy slowly rising. Soon, he'd be able to reboot and come back online. He was just about to unplug his scan when he noticed something... odd. "You... you two are split sparks. You're twins. Primus."

Sideswipe tightened his grip on his brother, looking at Ratchet warily even as he gave a short nod. Suddenly, things made a lot more sense. He didn't know many Decepticons that would have stayed behind for their injured partner, or reacted with such... empathy to his injures. But it wasn't just empathy- Sideswipe was _feeling_ his brother's pain as if it were his own. Two seperate mechs, one spark—it was a connection stronger than a bond forged later in life. These two had been two sides of the same coin since the day they were created. No wonder Sideswipe hadn't left—if his brother died, he would quickly follow.

It was an incredibly rare phenomenon. Even during his years at the University, he'd never seen a case in person. Most didn't make it through their first vorn and the rest, well...

"You're not going to turn us in, are you?" Sideswipe asked, voice wary and optics narrowed.

Ratchet scowled. "Why would I bother saving your collective chassis just to turn you in for a science experiment? I'm not some researcher in Dead End," he snapped. "No, I would prefer that the moment he wakes up, that you both get the frag out of here and find the youngling center in Polyhex. They'll take you in and finish fixing him up—you'll be safe."

Sideswipe didn't look convinced and he glanced at his brother uncertainly, as though wishing he were awake to give his opinion. Ratchet sighed. "Look, your brother still needs help. Kaon's a long ways away unless you can get a transport and they've already cleared out. Unless you want to turn yourself into the Autobots and let them help you in one of their camps, _go to Polyhex._ Get away from this war—this isn't your fight. A mech named Digit is an old friend of mine from when I went to school. Track him down. Last I heard, he was working at the North Polyhex Youngling Center. Tell him Ratchet sent you."

Sideswipe swore and ran a shaking hand over his head, optics brightening and fading as he thought. "These tunnels reach towards Polyhex—do you think any of them aren't fragged?" he asked.

Ratchet sighed and ran a hand over his helm. "Some are caved, but you two might be able to find a way," he said. He poked the red mech's chassis where the Decepticon insignia was painted with cheap purple. "Rub _that _off and you can go above ground."

Sideswipe scowled stubbornly. "No! We _earned _these! I'm not gonna give it up like that!" he snapped.

Ratchet returned the glare. "Kid, they _left _you. You really think they give a slag about what happens to you? I know how the Decepticons talk about brotherhood and rising up and all that slag, but if they really believed that, would they have left one of their own?"

Sideswipe opened his mouth to reply, but Ratchet caught him off. "They would let your brother _die, _and you with him and not bat an optic. Just… think about that next time you decide you want to fight for them."

Sideswipe didn't say anything, still intently focused on his brother. He stroked a hand lightly down his cheek, his other resting gently across his newly welded chassis.

Ratchet got to his feet and patted the mech's shoulder. "Stick to the tunnels until nightfall. I'll try and keep them away from this area."

Sideswipe looked up at him, mouth drawn into a thin line. "Thank you," he said. "Seriously... thank you."

Ratchet offered a small smile. "Be safe," he said before carefully looking at the hole he'd come through. He wouldn't be able to get back up it, so instead, he started walking, heading down the tunnel to try and find another exit, far away from the two young mechs. It felt almost wrong to leave them, and he had to remind himself that they would be able to handle it. They may be young, but they had already tasted war. They'd made it this far, after all and he had no doubt that the determined young mech would get his brother to safety.

Even so, he couldn't help but glance back and saw Sideswipe lean down and press a kiss against his brother's helm, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.


	27. Detonation

Good news! I got a promotion! Bad news! I suddenly don't have 8 hours of mindless work answering phones to write! I apologize for how long this update took and wish I could say that they will come faster from now one, but I'm not sure they will. I'll do my best and thank you all for sticking with me!

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><p>An anxious silence hung over Charr. With the field cleared, the dead being seen properly to the Well, and the last straggling Decepticons captured or driven away, there wasn't much left to do but wait. As much as Ultra Magnus and the others of the command staff had tried to hide it, rumors of the bomb had spread like rust. No one spoke about it, but the threat was there, clinging to all of them in a way that they couldn't ignore.<p>

As much as Ratchet pretended not to see his chronometer ticking away, he caught himself counting along with it at times. Six joors, three breems and 16 kliks until the day it was supposed to detonate. Ratchet didn't know when it would happen, or even _if_ it would happen, but the thought was a constant presence in the back of his mind. He tried not to dwell, attempting to keep himself as busy as possible, but tasks were getting harder and harder to come by without an enemy present.

Ultra Magnus had ordered the set up of a more permanent base in Charr to keep the Decepticons out and well away from the neighboring citystate of Protihex. It would be fortified and protected—making them able to fight the enemy far easier than it had been in the trenches, if the Cons ever returned. Ratchet's help hadn't been needed now that Pharma had taken over, so he stayed to the sidelines, keeping his optics on Wheeljack and Perceptor and trying to occupy his time elsewhere. That distraction usually came in the form of Ironhide, when the red mech wasn't too busy. He and the rest of the present Wreckers were aiding the process of building the new base before their new assignment came through. And he'd been all too eager to share the news.

"You can't be serious," Ratchet said, his cube of energon frozen halfway to his mouth.

Ironhide smirked. "Dead serious," he said. "We've been assigned to demolish the energon plants in Praxus." He took a long drink of his cube and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's the least we can do. I'll be damned if I'm gonna let the Cons gain even a fraction of their energon from that city after what they did to it. The other half of our group's already there. My CO, Kup—he wanted us to finish the job here before we caught up with them. Now that Charr's been reclaimed, y'all don't need us anymore."

Ratchet set his cube down, no longer hungry. "Ironhide, that's suicide," he said. "Surely your commanding officer sees that?"

Ironhide shook his head. "Kid, I don't think you understand how the Wreckers operate," he said. "It's our _job_ to do the stuff that the rest of the Autobots can't or won't. When everything else fails, we're the ones who go and make it right. It's why some of us were brought to Charr—Ultra Magnus needed the aid. We provided it, though the lotta good it did. We would've failed here if it weren't for yer engineer friend."

Ratchet stared down at his cube, fingers drumming anxiously along the side. "I think you're crazy," he muttered. "All of you."

Ironhide looked at him over his cube, optics hard. "You know… our last medi-bot, mech by the name ah Backdraft, he was recently killed in Charr. I've been on the lookout for a replacement." He let the unsaid question hang.

Ratchet's optics widened, suddenly feeling sick. "Backdraft was your…? No, you can't be asking me… there's _no way_ you're asking me what I think you're asking," he said, a hand going to his helm.

"You know," Ironhide continued, as though he hadn't heard him. "I wouldn't even be bringing you into an active combat zone, so I wouldn't even feel bad about asking a civvie. All you'd need to do is patch us up after our mission's finished. And let's face it, Ratchet," he said, dead serious. "Yeh kinda owe me. You took one of my own. I need another."

Ratchet let out a quiet moan. "Please… Ironhide, I can't go back to Praxus," he begged. "I-I _can't. _I still have nightmares about that place. Going back, it—it'll-"

"It'll what?" Ironhide said. "No, seriously, tell me. How can the dead hurt you now? You think seein' Praxus again will make the nightmares worse? Make th' pain new again? Well let me tell ya, kid. While you're sittin' here talkin' about nightmares, the Decepticons are using the energon pilfered from Praxus t' help create new ones."

Ratchet's vocals let out an aborted hiss of static as he looked helplessly at the red mech. Ironhide got to his feet, clapping a hand against his back. "We're leaving in 10 joors, as soon as the drop ship gets here. Recharge. I'll find you when it's time."

He grabbed his empty cube and gave him one last, maybe even sympathetic pat on the back before walking out of the mess hall. Ratchet stayed sitting at the table for a long time, mechs coming and going around him with him barely noticing. His cube of energon started to lose its glow, a thin film slowly congealing over the top as it sat, untouched.

A part of him knew he could refuse. He wasn't under orders from anyone—even his charges for the death of Backdraft had been waived due to the aid he'd provided. Ultra Magnus had promised him transportation to Polyhex and it was well within his rights to take it and simply… go. But there was still the guilt that kept him rooted, made him consider. He wasn't sure if he could ever forget the way Backdraft's optics had widened in surprise as his gun had gone off. He'd taken the mech's life by accident, a sheer panic response, but that didn't make the guilt any less prominent.

As much as he wanted to get as far away from Praxus as possible, he knew he had to make this one last trip. He'd see it through to the end, no matter how much it hurt. Carefully, he dipped his finger into his cube and sloughed off the congealed film before forcing himself to take a sip, a silent toast and promise to the mech he had killed.

He got to his feet as he focused on his chronometer once more. Two joors and counting. Primus, what a day.

"Ratchet?"

He looked up, surprised to see that it was Perceptor hovering in the entrance to the mess hall.

"Hey Perce, what's going on?" he asked.

Perceptor hesitated, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I um… well… Magnus has a live feed from Iacon and near the Rust Sea and I-I feel like I should watch but…" his voice trailed off again, a strange look almost like pleading crossing his face. "I don't want to watch it alone," he said at last.

Ratchet offered a small, commiserating smile. He'd seen glimpses of Perceptor's memories—if anyone could understand what the mech was feeling, it was him. "C'mon, we'll watch it together," he said.

Perceptor's demeanor lost a bit of its tension and he nodded, a hint of a smile flitting over his face before it disappeared. They fell into step beside one another. The sinuous tunnels of Charr stretched out before them like a maze, but their time here had dissolved any uncertainty about what direction they were heading or what turns to take.

Perceptor broke the silence first. "I'm scared," he said quietly. His voice was quiet and in it, Ratchet heard the old Perceptor, the mech far too young to be fighting in a war, let alone harboring so much guilt for something he had so little control over.

Ratchet hesitantly reached out and put his arm around the young mech's shoulders, and to his surprise, Perceptor leaned into him. He gave him a comforting squeeze and murmured, "Me too."

They walked the rest of the way to Ultra Magnus' makeshift office where he, Ironhide and Rung were crammed into the too-small space. Ratchet hesitated at the door, but Ultra Magnus waved them in. "No sign of anything yet," he told them. "All sensors are on high alert."

He and Perceptor squeezed into the small space, moving so they were in view of the screen as well.

"What about the evacuation?" Rung asked quietly.

Ironhide growled. "Lots of folks refused ta relocate. 'Specially the Tower's mechs—they're claiming no Tarnian scientist is smart enough to touch them. Elitist idiots."

Perceptor's optics paled at that and his hand gripped Ratchet's tightly. Ratchet squeezed his hand in return and Rung cleared his throat uncertainly.

"Perceptor, maybe it would be better if you went to the mess hall," he suggested gently.

Perceptor shook his head. "Whatever happens, I want to be here," he said, resolute though Ratchet could feel him starting to shake.

All optics were glued to the screen, watching, waiting, and none of them could miss the distinct sound of sirens as they started to wail through the speakers. Rung sat up a little straighter, Ultra Magnus' grip on his desk tightened and Ironhide's fingers stopped drumming against his arm. Perceptor started shaking harder, his optics wide and pale as he stared at the screen and Ratchet held his hand tightly, offering whatever comfort he could through the contact.

"He caught the coordinate change," Perceptor whispered, his voice hitching.

The sirens lonely wail sent shivers up Ratchet's backstruts and his optics scanned the screen for anything—a spec in the sky, an incoming flyer, _something._ Every mech in the room jumped as a sudden sheen of light flashed over the city in a dome, strange glyphs registering for just a moment before they were gone, leaving just a faint outline of light behind.

"The frag was that?" Ironhide asked and leaned a little closer to the screen.

There was no chance to reply. None of them saw where it came from, no black speck on the high definition screen to indicate where it had originated. One second, the Iacon skyline was there, the next, flames and swirling plumes of liquid hot plasma were curling out, obscuring the sight of the city in a massive cloud, brightening the murky sky.

Perceptor let out a quiet cry, somewhere in between pain and disbelief. Ratchet stared at the screen in shock, a strange numbness creeping through his limbs.

"Oh Primus," Rung whispered, one hand covering his mouth.

Ultra Magnus frowned and tapped a few commands on his console. "Something's off," he said. "I'm still getting radio chatter from Iacon HQ."

Perceptor stood, leaning over the blue and red mech as the plumes from the bomb started to clear. As the haze faded, the skyline of Iacon reappeared, perfectly intact and surrounded by a dome of wavering light. "Oh Primus," Perceptor whispered, optics wide. "Can you zoom in?"

Ultra Magnus tapped a command that made the camera focus closer on the city. Orange glyphs skittered over the city, reacting to the plumes of smoke that brushed against it, the only remains the bomb had left behind. A force field, but like none Ratchet had ever seen, entombed the city in its soft, protective light.

"Those symbols… they're in the Primal Vernacular," Perceptor said, his voice echoing how stunned they all felt. "It has to be a remnant of Old Iacon—some sort of city wide protection. The likes of it haven't been seen since before the Metrotitans disappeared. It… it's _ancient._"

Ultra Magnus waved a hand to quiet him, one finger on his audio as he listened to the radio waves. "Whatever it is, it worked," he said. "The city is safe—troops are being deployed to the outskirts. They're going to pass through the force field to see if it's safe and check for casualties who weren't within the field."

Perceptor put a hand to his head and Ratchet put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "How? I wasn't even aware Iacon _had _a protection system. How were they able to activate it?"

Ultra Magnus shrugged and instead of guessing, he patched his comm. with the console, letting the radio chatter flow out from the speakers. Voices overlapped but the comm. mech sorted them out well enough to be able to hear individual reports.

"Sectors 7, 8 and 9, clear."

"The Towers are clear."

"The effects of the bomb have passed—the city is clear outside of the force field."

"A group of bottom feeders got hit though—they've been scorched dry. I've never seen anything like it."

"Bring them back to HQ. I want to know exactly how this weapon operated."

"Radio contact to Iacon HQ's been reestablished. Prowl, sir, what _was_ that?"

The chatter quieted as though every mech was waiting for an explanation. A voice answered, and judging by his tone, the chaos around him hadn't affected him in the slightest. "We activated a security system from Old Iacon. It was found in the catacombs under the city."

"Catacombs?"

"New Iacon is built on top of Old Iacon—there's a whole labyrinth under the city."

"Yeah, didn't you pay attention to history downloads?"

"How did you _find_ something like that? This is like… Prima era technology."

"You can thank an archivist," the mech named Prowl said.

"An archivist?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes. He found the records of the force field and deciphered it enough to unlock it. He's one of three mechs I've ever met who knows the Primal Vernacular and he wasn't created anywhere _near _that era," Prowl said, sounding almost impressed.

"Who… who is this guy?"

"His name is Orion Pax."

Ironhide let out a bark of a laugh though his relief was almost palpable. "Orion Pax? Primus, that datapad junkie!"

Ultra Magnus stayed tuned into the radio chatter, fingers flying across the console. "That datapad junkie just saved all of Iacon," he said. "The reports from this bomb are… extraordinary." The big mech turned and looked at Perceptor. "Iacon Command is requesting your presence. They want your help to recreate this technology to protect other cities from possible attack."

Perceptor nodded though Ratchet could still feel him shaking. "I'll go," he said. In the background, the radio chatter continued though with the relief flooding the numbness from his system, Ratchet barely heard it.

He squeezed Perceptor's shoulder before looking at Ironhide. "Keep us updated?" he asked.

Ironhide took one good look at Perceptor and realized that the poor mech looked like he was about to faint, though it was more due to relief now than anything. He nodded before Ratchet carefully steered his friend from the room.


	28. Goodbyes

Friends! I have a proposition for you! Do you love Transformers? Do you like to pretend you're a giant robot? Well, the War Dawn Mush is rebooting and we need your characters! We need players for both canon characters (seriously, a lot of canon characters are available) and original characters, and while we are still working out some details on the wiki page, we are taking applications! Visit wardawnmush dot com or PM me for more details, questions, just to chat- whatever! Never role played or been on a MUSH before? NO PROBLEM! We are more than willing to teach.

Anyway, enjoy the next chapter and thank you once again for your patience!

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><p>The next days passed in a rush of noise and highgrade. Even though Ratchet had known of the bomb for so long, had carried the burden from Kaon to Charr, he felt oddly distanced from the celebrations taking place around him. The enlisted mechs drank their highgrade, made toasts to Orion Pax, the new hero of Iacon, to Prowl and his team for keeping the city safe, even a few for Perceptor, who flushed and hurried away every time someone picked him out of the crowd.<p>

Once, Ratchet would have jumped on the opportunity to join them, but now, he found every reason to avoid their boisterous festivities. Since that last night in Praxus, the idea of drinking until his processor lapsed held no appeal to him. Instead, he spent his time with Perceptor and Wheeljack. He already knew that Perceptor was planning on returning to Iacon, and Wheeljack decided that he was going to join him.

"I just want to go home," his friend had said, a tired smile on his face. Ratchet had understood—even though the physical wounds had healed, the mech still had a long way to go. They all did.

His friends were scheduled to leave with the one of the drop ships on its return to Iacon. He hadn't told them about his promise to return to Praxus. They would fight it as much as his instinct was, but he had made a promise and he intended to keep it. Instead, he told them he was planning on staying in Charr a while longer until he could safely go to Polyhex—it wasn't exactly at lie.

The reality that his friends were leaving didn't hit him until the drop ship arrived to pick them up and whisk them away. Perceptor had a small case of supplies clasped tightly in his arms and Wheeljack was pulling a case of half-formed inventions and datapads he'd amassed over the bored days in Charr's medbay. Ratchet helped them carry their things above ground to the landing pad, but as soon as his optics lighted on the ship, idling quietly and blowing dust away from the engines, he stopped. His friends were _leaving._

Wheeljack's optics were bright as he pulled Perceptor's chest above ground before giving him a hand as well. "I can't believe I'm going back to Iacon," he said. "After all this, I just… never thought I would see home again."

Perceptor gave a small smile. "Me neither," he said quietly.

Ratchet couldn't stop a small smile and gave Wheeljack's shoulder a squeeze. "Better hurry up or they'll leave without you," he said.

Ultra Magnus was talking to an Autobot—a green mech with helicopter blades handing down his back. As they approached he said, "These are the two civilians. Perceptor, Wheeljack, this is Springer. He and his squad will be taking you back to Iacon." He looked at Springer and said, "Prowl wants to meet them personally when they arrive."

Springer nodded. "It's an honor to meet you two," he said. "We've heard about what you've done for Charr, and for Iacon."

Perceptor looked away and Wheeljack managed a murmured an uncertain "thank you." Ratchet stood back as he watched his friends surrender their things to the mech, who disappeared back into the ship. Wheeljack ran a hand over his blast mask before pulling Ratchet into a crushing hug.

"Are you sure you won't come with?" he asked quietly.

Ratchet returned the embrace fiercely. "I'll be back in Iacon soon enough," he promised. "I just want to make a few stops first."

Wheeljack signed and nodded. "I know. Stay safe out there, okay?"

Ratchet tightened his embrace and planted a chaste kiss against the side of the mech's mask. "I will. I promise," he said quietly. He held on for a moment longer before finally letting him go.

Perceptor's hug was softer, more timid, but no less genuine and Ratchet was grateful to have it. "Take care of yourself, Perce," he said quietly, meaning every word.

"You do the same," he said. The mech offered him a small smile before heading into the debts of the ship, Wheeljack following close behind.

Ratchet waited until the hatch closed, the engines started and lifted, waited until the ship was a small speck in the sky before finally turning away. A profound sense of loss settled inside of him, and though he tried to shake it off, tried to convince himself he would see them again soon, it was hard to think too far past Praxus. The thought of it hung at the forefront of his mind, consuming almost everything else.

Ironhide found him later that day as he finished packing the last of his paltry possessions—the only things he had left. He didn't even have enough to fill a full carry bag, but as Ironhide plopped down a heavy case on his berth with an Autobrand across the top, he wondered if that would change.

"What's this?" he asked and flipped open the case. He whistled as he looked inside at the most complete medical kit he'd ever seen, even beyond what he had seen at the University.

"Command sent us a shipment. I figured you'd want one," Ironhide said.

Ratchet looked through at the variety of patches, fluid packets, solvents, cleaners, laser scalpels and other emergency tools and nodded in approval. "They hook you up well when they can," he said.

"I thought it might come in handy," the red mech said with a grin. "Our ship's here. It's time to roll out."

Ratchet froze as he flipped up one of the shelves and found an un-loaded pistol with three full cartridges nestled into a bed of foam. He swallowed and flipped the case closed and stored it in his subspace, though it was definitely a tight fit. He looked up at the red mech and drew in a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Ironhide grinned and motioned for him to follow, leading him out of the barracks and up one of the ladders to the ground above. Two more drop ships had arrived and sat idling, as though expecting to need to take off at any moment. With Charr's notorious history of attacks on ships, Ratchet wasn't too surprised.

Both ships were alive with activity—mechs coming and going, crates being loaded and unloaded, but Ironhide headed straight for one mech. He was an imposing figure, armed to the gills and standing a head taller than even Ultra Magnus, who greeted him with grave formality. His heavy armor was scuffed and pitted with dings, though under the grime, his paint was gold and purple. Orange optics gave Ultra Magnus their full attention, and he nodded to whatever the mech said, purple head crest bobbing.

His optics flicked over to Ironhide and something that almost could have been a smile quirked the corner of his scarred face. Ironhide stood at attention as they got close and threw an expert salute.

"Well, well, well, look who managed to survive Charr," the mech said, returning the salute before offering Ironhide a hand. "It's good to see you again, Ironhide."

"It's good to see you too, sir," he said and took the hand in a hard shake.

"If you'll excuse me, Impactor, I need to get back to work," Ultra Magnus said, that same cool formality in his voice.

Impactor smirked and gave a slight inclination of his head. "Always a pleasure, Magnus," he said before turning back to Ironhide. "Now, you have some fragging explaining to do. How the hell is it I send one of my most promising recruits to Charr and a couple of _civvies_ do you job for you?"

Ratchet lost the thread of that conversation as Ultra Magnus pulled him aside. "You don't have to do this," he said. "You're a civilian. You have no duty to join on a venture like this. _Especially _an asinine venture of the Wreckers."

Ratchet drew in a deep breath. "With all due respect, sir, I do," he said through a sigh. "I killed a mech. I owe it to his team to aid them, at least until a replacement can be found."

Ultra Magnus pegged him with a hard look. "I absolved you for Backdraft's death," he said. "The aid you provided here helped save Autobot lives. You've done enough."

Ratchet wanted to believe him, but his mind had already been made up. "Not yet."

Ultra Magnus looked like he wanted to shake him. "If you want to help, go through the proper channels!" he said. "Go to Iacon. Take the oath. At least then I won't have another civilian death on my conscience."

Ratchet gave a small, humorless laugh. "I'm no Autobot," he said. "I'm just trying to right a wrong."

The red and blue mech's lips were drawn into a thin line. "I could arrest you, have you taken to Iacon," he said.

Ratchet grinned at that. "But you won't," he pointed out.

It took a long moment for the mech to reply, as though battling with himself. "No," he said at last. "I won't." He ran a hand over his helm before offering him a hand. "Don't let Impactor and Ironhide make you do anything stupid. They have a habit of reckless behavior."

Ratchet gripped his hand tightly. "I won't," he promised. "You of all mechs know I'm not afraid to speak my mind."

Ultra Magnus made a noncommittal noise, obviously not amused. "Take care of yourself, Ratchet."

"You as well, sir."

"Time to go, Ratchet," Ironhide called, drawing his attention away for just a moment. When he looked back, Ultra Magnus was already gone.

The mech named Impactor looked him over as he approached the drop ship, standing in front of the open port. "So you're the medic that's caused such a stir around here," he said. Ratchet wasn't sure what to say, so he kept quiet under the scrutiny. "We like that in the Wreckers." He stepped aside and motioned to the dark hold of the ship. "Welcome aboard."


	29. Terminal

Thank you to everyone who still remembers this story after... almost a year of not updating. Umf, I am so sorry. Enjoy!

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><p>Lights strobed in blinding flashes overhead, an accurate ambiance for the panicked alarms and beeps of the ship. The world seemed to tilt around them with every movement of the metal behemoth under them, sending the scorched and injured passengers sliding with each motion. Ratchet ignored the shouts, the noise, high beams focused on the frame under him.<p>

"Ratchet, what's his status?" a voice shouted over the din, but the medic barely heard him as his hands moved automatically over the mech below him. The fast acting acid melting through the reinforced armor was more than enough to eat through the plating on his fingers, so going was slow as he applied carefully placed drops from a sloshing container of a base neutralizer to the afflicted areas.

Everything narrowed down the frame under his hands, but a part of his mind remembered Impactor's warning at the start of it all: "I'm not going to jinx it by saying it'll be cut and dry. This is the Wreckers—we don't do normal. Expect anything." This certainly fit the bill.

All talk of infiltrations, guard rotations, placements of bombs had all gone over his head. He'd listened, of course, but the finer points of military strategies were beyond him. Instead, he'd done as he was told and stayed behind, and watched the Wreckers leave to complete their grand, stupid plan, and waited, and waited, and waited until he thought was going to go mad with it.

"Be ready to pick up the pieces," Impactor had told him, like the lives of his team were just a puzzle to be put back together.

It didn't feel like a puzzle, now. No, it felt like he was trying to stop a bag from leaking. Armor had bubbled and melted away, only to solidify and stick to delicate wires and sensors—areas that should not, _could not_ be exposed to such treatment. In the back of his mind, he heard Impactor ask for status again, but he gave no response. The effort to respond wasn't worth even the smallest diversion of his attention.

The frame under his hands jerked violently, system failure warnings suddenly popping up on his HUD. It was as if Ratchet could feel him standing on the precipice, ready to topple over into death if he didn't hold onto the thread keeping him here. "Stay with me," he said, a mantra repeated so it would be true. "Stay with me, stay with me." But on the table below him, Ironhide didn't respond.

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><p>Life was such a tenuous thing, so fragile. It was strange how death used to seem so unusual—something he only had to see when he failed. But now, he had dealt with death on a near daily basis since Praxus had fallen, and though a part of him knew better, part of him knew that there was no coming back from some wounds, it still felt like failure. Now, he wasn't sure what to feel.<p>

Ironhide stirred on the table as Ratchet rebooted him. The lights of the medbay in the Autobot Headquarters in Polyhex were normally blinding, but Ratchet had turned them down in preparation. His blue optics flickered on, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Finally, he stirred, his hand coming up to smooth over his helm.

"Where are we?" he asked at last.

Impactor stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder as the red mech tried to sit up. "We're in Polyhex," he said.

Ironhide frowned at that, head tilting slightly to the side as he looked up at his CO. "Polyhex?" he repeated. "How long have I been out?"

"We've been here about four days," Ratchet said. "Half a day flight from Praxus."

Ironhide let out a small sigh, hand coming up to rub his optics. "What… happened?" he asked at last.

Impactor crossed his arms over his chassis. "We blew the energy plants—mission accomplished, but… not before you got hit by a pretty potent acid pellet," he said.

"Impactor," Ratchet said.

The Wrecker sighed. "Okay, fine. A pellet full of a corrosive we've never seen before," he said. "It… did some damage."

Ironhide frowned and pushed himself up onto an elbow, despite his superior's protests. "What sort of damage are we talkin'?" he asked, even as he looked down to the newly patched area on his chassis. Impactor opened his mouth to speak, and it was as if he wasn't used to giving bad news, even though Ratchet knew the contrary to be true.

Impactor had promised he'd give him the news straight, but he faltered, optics glancing at the medic. Ratchet had experience with such things. The white and red mech stepped forward, fingers drumming an anxious pattern on his folded arms. "The duty ending kind of damage," Ratchet said.

Ironhide's optics narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ratchet ran a hand over helm, feeling tired in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of sleep he'd had. "When that acid pellet hit, it liquefied parts of your armor. That slag coated the wirings around your spark and even on your spark casing before it re-solidified. It's fused in ways that I can't get rid of without killing you," Ratchet said.

"So what?" Ironhide snapped, but Ratchet could see understanding slowly take root.

"It means that you're a time bomb, 'Hide. I just don't know when the timer's set for," Ratchet said. "The metal is creating electrical connections where there shouldn't _be _any. One wayward flux of energy and your spark could just… shut off."

"I'm sorry, 'Hide," Impactor said quietly, his hand still resting on the mech's shoulder. "My hands are tied—I'm giving you a medical discharge."

Ironhide was silent, his face devoid of emotion, flat as a stone. "And what," he asked at last, "am I supposed to do now? I'm a _military class_ mech, and you're saying I can't _serve?"_

Impactor shook his head. "Not actively," he said. "Not for the Wreckers."

The red mech shoved Impactor's hand away and tore the connector that hooked him up to the medical scanner. It let out a long, flat tone that made Ratchet start forward on impulse, but Ironhide held up a hand. "So that's it then?" he asked through a short, bitter laugh. He shook his head. "Well, since you're _not _my Commanding Officer anymore, I can say this with a clear conscience," he said and turned a hard glare on Impactor. "Slag you, mech. I've worked with the Wreckers for over three vorns—a fragging _record _under your command, and you cast me aside without a second thought. _Slag you."_

Ironhide stormed past them, and Ratchet didn't have the spark to stop him. Beside him, Impactor let out a long sigh, one hand smoothing over his crest. "Thank you, Ratchet," he said quietly. "For coming with us. I'd have a dead mech instead of a disabled one."

Ratchet swallowed thickly and nodded. "I wish I could have done more," he said quietly.

The mech reached into his subspace and pulled out a small data chip. "Here," he said and placed it in his hand. "Take this. It marks you as a civilian specialist. Show it to anyone in Autobot headquarters, whether if you're here or in another city, and they'll take you wherever you need to go. This close to the fight, I'd rather we transported you than you taking the roads yourself."

Ratchet looked down at the small chip, seeing the holographic Autobot symbol flash from its surface. "Thank you, Impactor," he said quietly and slipped the chip into a port on his wrist. The identification update pinged his HUD and he accepted it without a second thought.

He found Ironhide later that day, in the mess hall, nursing a cube of high grade. Ratchet grabbed a cube of his own, looking around the now-familiar hall. Polyhex wasn't at all what he imagined—this close to the battle, he expected a base more like Kaon; constant activity to mix with the sounds of war outside. Here, it was almost quiet, other than the regular comings and goings of mechs to gather their rations. Platoons came and went, injuries were flown in, but the base was secure and stable in its position inside the city.

Ironhide didn't look up as Ratchet sat down, choosing instead to stare into the violently pink cube in front of him. Judging by the brightness of his optics, it wasn't his first. Ratchet took a long drink of his own cube, not setting it down until it was half empty.

"I didn't thank you," Ironhide said at last, "for saving my life."

A half smile tilted across his face but it was gone a moment later. "And I didn't apologize for not being able to do more," he said quietly.

Ironhide shook his head. "I've seen you work. You do your best by everyone," he said and drained his cube. "So do me this, and give me your best guess of how much time I got left?"

Ratchet sighed, his thumb tapping on the edge of his cube. "I can't say," he said honestly. "It could be days, it could be vorns. My best suggestion is not to exert yourself unless you have to and for _Primus' sake_, don't spark merge with anyone—higher energy output from your spark heightens the risk of those connections making a complete circuit and shorting you out."

To his surprise, Ironhide laughed. "Are you saying… that me bumping sparks with someone could kill me?" he asked and laughed even harder. "What a way to go. I'll keep that in mind."

Ratchet couldn't help but snort at the black attempt at humor and drained the rest of his cube. He grabbed Ironhide's and filled them both up at the dispenser again before returning to the table. Ironhide grabbed the cube and raised it in a cheers of sorts before taking another sip.

They fell into silence again, and Ratchet lost himself in his thoughts as he made his way through the second cube. The past four days had allotted him a lot of time to think, as he sat beside the mech in the med bay.

"You know, when I was in school in Praxus, we had an interesting case come in," Ratchet said. "It was a construction mech who was brought in, _huge_ piece of metal piping going straight through his chest. Internals leaking everywhere, spark casing _shattered—_he shouldn't have even been alive, let alone conscious… but he was. He was conscious, and he was talking to us." Ratchet gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Grizzly fragging injury, but that mech… he wasn't about to let something as trivial as a pipe through his chest to stop him."

Ironhide watched him over the rim of his cube. "What happened?" he asked.

Ratchet leaned back in his chair. "We had some of the greatest minds in Praxus," he said quietly. "After we patched him up as best as we could, put him on a spark support system, some of the senior surgeons came up with this idea. Completely experimental—no one had ever even heard of anything like it, but when we told this mech we were going to _build him a new spark casing, _this mech said something I'll never forget."

Ratchet chuckled and said, "He told us 'I don't fear death, but I'm certainly not ready to meet Primus yet. I trust you all to make him reschedule.'"

Ironhide whistled quietly. "And did it work?"

Ratchet grinned. "It did," he said. "That mech lived up until the day Praxus fell and only had a numb hand to show the reduced energy output from his spark." He looked at the red mech and met his optics, "Don't underestimate what hope and a good doctor can do."

Ironhide set his cube down, a small grin spreading across his face. "Thanks, Ratchet," he said. "I'll keep that in mind."


End file.
